


Nevermore

by MidwesternDuchess



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Post-Canon, everything goes to shit AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-05 01:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5355491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternDuchess/pseuds/MidwesternDuchess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If there is a God, He will have to beg my forgiveness." -a phrase carved on the walls of a concentration camp cell</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. only this and nothing more

It is, in Yang Xiao Long's professional opinion, a terrible day for an execution.

She stands in a carefree slouch, one hip cocked to the side, dimly aware she's probably rumpling her uniform, but not remotely concerned about it. She's already singed the sleeve of this one, anyway, and she hasn't even bothered to try to scrub out the bloodstain splattered across the back of it.

She's much more concerned with the town square she stands before as she passes her violet gaze over it once again, suspicious. The square is relatively empty—the kind of ghost town the Atlesian Army has grown accustomed to receiving. She fights the nostalgia that bubbles up in her chest at the familiarity of Vale. She avoids glancing towards the ruins of Beacon that tickle her peripheral vision.

She won't look. She can't.

Houses line the square, but all the doors are closed, windows bolted, curtains drawn. A woman living in the upper floor of a restaurant is the only human visible. She stands on her balcony, hanging her laundry out to dry, her lips moving. Yang wonders if she's singing or praying.

The sun blazes overhead, and officers curse the heat as they work to set up the platform. She watches as the rope swings in the brittle breeze, waiting to be twisted into a noose.

"Something amiss, Captain?"

Yang knows that voice—that icy, superior tone. It's a voice that commands respect, but draws only a shrug from Yang, whose gaze doesn't stray from the rope.

"Not sure yet," she answers. Her eyes catch a flash of red and she zeroes in on it, only to watch as the woman hangs her crimson scarf out to dry. It dances in the wind, and Yang's stomach clenches painfully.

She curses quietly, looking away, and the woman beside her chuckles.

"You don't truly think she'd show up _here,_ do you?"

Yang throws an annoyed glance over her shoulder to meet the even gaze of Winter Schnee: Remnant-renowned General of Atlas' Army and the biggest killjoy Yang ever had the misfortune of crossing paths with.

"How should I know?" the blonde retorts, giving the cold woman her back. "If she's desperate enough, she'll try anything."

Winter manages a small noise of irritation, but lets it slide. She's long since learned that with the seemingly inexhaustible power of Yang Xiao Long comes her equally inexhaustible temper. The girl is a fever—fiercer than fire and hot like dynamite. Easy to rile, nearly impossible to cool.

She is the Sun Dragon of the Atlesian Army.

She balances out Winter's cold and detached approach to things, and as long as she remembers who is the Captain and who is the General, Winter lets her get away with murder.

"Something's not right," Yang mutters, chewing idly on her thumb as she sweeps the square again. "I can feel it. Can you?"

Winter shrugs, unbothered. "I can't say I do. But that's not my job." She looks askance at the younger woman. "This is a critical execution, Captain. I am trusting you to ensure there are no…surprises."

Yang snorts. _Surprises._

"Like the Black Sun?" she drawls, cocking an amused brow.

Winter's storm cloud eyes flash. "Among others," she agrees coolly, her voice ending with a snap. She turns to leave, arms folded behind her, chin up, shoulders back, Khione glittering in the sunlight at her side. She takes three steps before she stops, a sudden thought occurring to her.

"Captain," she calls, still staring straight ahead.

Yang frowns, looking back over her shoulder. "Yeah?" she asks.

"You have permission to eliminate any threats you find," she explains. She sends a look of stark coldness at the blonde, who goes stiff at the General's words. "I assume that's what held you back at the last execution, yes?"

It's a lie—a dig at the Sun Dragon's pride.

They both know what stayed Yang's hand the last time.

The Captain's eyes narrow to slits.

"Of course, _General."_ She mocks the title and offers up a sarcastic salute.

Winter smiles tightly to herself and resumes her walk.

There will be no interruption of this execution. She lays a hand against Khione's hilt.

She'll kill that Faunus filth herself if she has to.

-0-

"You know, for a dead man, you have an awful lot to say."

The words—lined with icy derision, of course—come from a white-haired woman as she picks her way through a dense forest. "It's draining to keep my Summons up like this, and I'm starting to doubt if you're worth it."

The man being addressed laughs heartily, throwing his head back and crowing with amusement. Weiss' mouth tightens with annoyance.

"I'm serious. One more smart comment about my _clothes_ and I'll—"

He cuts her off. She's used to it, at this point.

"I'm sorry," he remarks in what is perhaps the least apologetic tone she's ever heard. "But who fights in a _dress?_ I mean, I'm sure it was adorable when you were a kid, but _now—"_

She spins around, jabbing a finger in his direction. _"First_ of all," she begins in a blistering tone. "It's a combat skirt. Secondly, what do you propose I do? Waltz into a clothing store? My picture is plastered over every wall in Remnant!"

Qrow smirks, his icy blue eyes flashing with humor as he runs a hand through his stark-white hair. "It ain't a picture, Princess. That's what we outlaws call a _wanted poster._ Big difference."

Weiss stares at him, working her jaw and trying to reign in her temper. The last time she'd blown up at Qrow, she'd startled a flock of birds and attracted some nearby hikers.

She won't make the same mistake twice. She can't afford to.

"I'm not stupid." The ice in her voice bites with a vengeance. "And you aren't an outlaw. You're dead."

He shrugs, unruffled. "Okay, so I'm a dead outlaw." He flashes her a cocky grin. "Still a better fighter than you."

She huffs with irritation before marching away. He just isn't worth the time.

 _But apparently he's worth depleting your Summoning energies,_ she mocks herself.

Weiss sighs. Qrow Branwen isn't her first choice as a travel companion—he isn't her first choice as _anything._ But he's all she's got, and he's a damn sight better than the piercing loneliness that surrounds her, so she just purses her lips and pushes on.

"Hey, Princess," Qrow calls.

Weiss keeps walking. "Save your breath, Qrow," she replies. _Not that you have any,_ she tacks on internally.

Still he persists. "Princess, I'm serious."

She groans, closing her eyes as she turns around to face the Summoned spirit. "Qrow, I swear to whatever god happens to be listening, if this is a joke—"

She opens her eyes, to see a flyer Qrow had plucked from the ground. Her heart stutters to a stop as she reads it, her breath catching.

"Oh, _no,"_ she whispers, eyes going wide.

"I know," Qrow agrees grimly, flipping the flyer around to look over it. He chews his lip. "That's gonna be messy business. Best we stay clear of it."

"Stay _clear?"_ Weiss demands. "Qrow, we can't just let that happen!"

He glares at her. "So what? You want us burst in, swords swinging?" He shakes his head, and his derisive scoff brings Weiss' blood to a boil. "Forget it, Princess. You'd be dead before you drew your blade."

She bristles, resentment rolling off of her in waves. "I'm not a child," she reminds him, her words clipped and sharpened.

Qrow meets her gaze. Ice clashes against ice.

"No," he says, and his voice is low but not gentle. There is nothing about Qrow—in life or in death—that is gentle, and Weiss has her life to thank for it, no matter how reluctantly. "You are not a child, Weiss. But you are a wanted criminal, and running headlong into the center of Vale is not a strategy for self-preservation."

Weiss grinds out a curse. He's right. He's always right. It infuriates her and is coincidentally the reason she still draws breath.

She hasn't lasted this long by ignoring Qrow.

"Fine," she grumbles. "Whatever. We'll go the long way around, stick to the forests." She lifts her blade. "Now if you're finished, I really need to replenish my strength."

He nods his understating, crumpling the flyer up in a ball and tossing it away.

"As the lady wishes," he offers her a low bow, and Weiss rolls her eyes, closing her eyes and preparing the spell. A pure-white glyph unfolds itself below Qrow's feet.

"If you need me, don't hesitate," he tells her as the glyph grows.

"I won't," she tells him, face laced tight in concentration. "That's kind of the point, you know."

She hears him chuckle, and then, in a flash of brilliant light, he's gone.

She falls to one knee immediately, gripping Myrtenaster's hilt tightly to keep from falling over. She'd kept him Summoned for a full forty-eight hours, as he had even watched over her while she slept. She can't do that again, or she'll end up killing herself and this whole thing will have been for nothing.

Muttering under her breath, she pushes to her feet and smoothly sheaths her weapon. She strides over to where Qrow had dropped the flyer and bends to collect it, smoothing it out as best she can.

The logo of the Atlesian Army stares back at her. They say all snowflakes are unique, she knows this one. She'd spent her youth with it printed across her back like a target. She wonders what Winter was thinking when she redesigned the insignia with their family's crest. Did the symbol not haunt her like it haunted Weiss?

"Yang," she whispers, the name tasting like poison as her eyes read over the words _Public Execution._ "What are you doing?"

-0-

"Hey! Watch it!"

The young woman immediately turns, one hand ghosting to the pistol tucked into the waistband of her pants, but she relaxes as the man turns instead upon a young boy who had the misfortune of stumbling into the older man.

She looks away, returning to the task at hand, but finds it hard to block out the resulting uproar. Slurs against the boy's clumsiness wash over her, but when she hears the phrase _"your kind"_ a one of the ears hidden beneath a dust-colored beanie twitches.

Her eyes drift upwards to catch a reflection of the scene in the glossy café window before her. The man is red-faced and screaming and the boy is clutching something in his hands, looking horrified.

Golden eyes narrow as she studies the reflection closer and sees it's a…tail.

A smooth, sleek, cat tail—white as snow.

Blake's jaw tightens.

She rises from her seat, keeping her expression carefully schooled as she spins on her heel to stride past the commotion. As she does, she reaches into her jacket to smoothly extract a spare bullet she hasn't bothered to replace into a magazine. With a quick flick of her nimble fingers, she flips the bullet into the air. It shines in the light for a brief moment before it clatters to the ground.

Her aim, as usual, is unmatched. She watches out of the corner of her eye as the man takes a step back, his foot landing directly on the bullet. His ankle rolls, and his arms flail uselessly in the air as he tries to catch his balance. He fails, quite impressively, and goes crashing into a café chair.

The Faunus boy's eyes snap to hers, and she touches a finger to her lips. He nods eagerly, face lighting up like a sunbeam, and scampers off as she makes her way calmly past the man, who lies on the ground, cursing.

She's barely made it three steps from the café before a presence joins her. She tenses— hand again drifting towards her pistol—but then the warmth touches her, and she stills.

"Ah, so you do have a heart," a voice muses bedside her. His shadow looms over her.

Blake glances up, amusement tugging at her lips.

"So I've been told," she murmurs. "Usually by you."

Sun smiles broadly at her, and she'd scold him for being so obvious in a public setting if she weren't just as happy to see him.

"Missed you," he tells her lowly. His eyes burn and she hopes he keeps himself and his infamous bear hugs well in check.

"You're tolerable," she replies, voice layered with her own brand of dark humor.

Still, she tips him a wink and gives him a small, but undeniable smile. She had missed him.

"So," he begins as they set out. "Scarlet checked the place out."

Uneasiness darkens her features as they begin to walk. It's unlike Sun to bring up business so quickly. Things must be as bad as she'd feared.

"And?" she prompts.

"It's Velvet," he tells her quietly. "Velvet Scarlatina."

A vicious curse falls from her lips and her hidden ears go flat against her skull. "I knew it," she hisses.

"Blake," he begins, his tone riddled with apprehension. "The entire Atlesian Army's there." He cuts a glance at her, as though making sure she understands the meaning of his words. "Like, _all_ of 'em."

"I have no issue facing Yang," she tells him, a brisk bite to her voice. "I've done it before and I will do it again."

"It's not just Yang," he warns her. "Winter too. And probably Penny."

She works her jaw. That is a complication.

"Then we'll take it slow," she murmurs. They cross the street, and Blake spies a hulking boy with a shock of green hair standing on the street corner. Their eyes meet and she nods at him. Sage lifts his chin in reply before looking away. Bless that boy for watching their backs all the time. She'd be dead a thousand times over if not for him and the rest of his team.

"We just need to disrupt the execution and extract Velvet," she reminds him. "With any luck, we can do that without having to cross blades."

Sun shrugs. "Sure, I mean, you know I trust you." He flashes her the cocky grin that has kept her sane on her darkest days. "You don't need luck, Blake."

Dark amusement quirks her lips again. "Good," she mutters, mostly to herself. "Because I'm all out of it."

-0-

"They're gonna execute _Velvet?"_

Ruby's whips her head around to scowl at the boy. "Jaune, keep your voice down!" she hisses at him. The flyer she'd picked up flutters to the ground as her hand automatically finds the grip of Crescent Rose.

He glances around too, one hand on the hilt of his sword. The two Hunters stand, tensed and straining to listen, but nothing happens. Ruby finally straightens, still shooting him an annoyed look.

"You have to be more careful than that, Jaune," she says firmly, bending to retrieve the flyer. "We're in Vale now, remember? People will recognize us if we're not careful."

"Sorry," he apologizes, properly contrite. "But seriously, Velvet? What has she ever done?"

Ruby shrugs, frowning down at the leaflet advertising the public execution of one of the kindest Huntresses she's ever known at the hands of the sister she used to hero-worship.

"What has anyone done?" she murmurs. She wallows in her dark mood for a moment before pulling herself out. She can't think like that. It's darkness that started all this, and she refuses to lose herself in it.

Jaune looks thoughtful. Ruby eyes him warily. No, not thoughtful—hopeful.

"Ruby, do you think, since it's in Vale and all, do you think Pyrrha—?"

"I don't know, Jaune," she cuts him off callously. Hope can be just as deadly as a blade, and he can ill-afford the inevitable disappointment it brings. It hurts her do hurt him but she knows she's right and tries to take comfort in that. "I doubt she'll be making any public appearances, but anything's possible."

He sags under her words, and she wishes she could take them back, wishes she could tell him that _yes, Jaune, I'm sure Pyrrha is just around the corner. And I'm sure Nora and Ren are with her and you all can be together again and it'll be just like old times._

But she knows better than that. So she just looks away, unable to look him in the eye.

"If it's being put on by the Atlesian Army, that means Yang will be there," she muses, tasting the name. She doesn't often speak it aloud, and it sounds foreign to her—the way voices ring oddly after a stretch of silence.

Jaune nods in agreement. "Blake too, probably. She usually gets hired for these kinds of things."

Ruby bites her lip. She almost envies Jaune's position. He has no idea where is team is, or even if they're still alive.

She, in turn, has a fair guess at the location of her team, and knows they're all alive and well and _trying to murder each other._

She longs for the days of ignorance, where her naiveté had spun her a tale of a Team RWBY reunion—no pain, no lies, no violence—just four friends who had fought the odds and found their way back to each other in the darkens.

Weiss has since been removed from that daydream, given the last action she'd seen the heiress preform—plunging her blade hilt-deep into her uncle's chest—has left her a little unsure on how to handle that situation.

So she keeps her face towards the sun. Towards Yang. Her sister.

"It'll be tough," she says, stuffing the flyer in her pouch looking over her shoulder at Jaune. "Sure you're up to it? I'm not going to ask you to put yourself in danger for me."

Jaune shrugs, flashing her a grin. "So don't ask," he suggests. "I'll be right behind you."

She nods, thankful for his dedication and his friendship. She hopes with all her heart he never finds out about Pyrrha—he doesn't deserve that. No one does.

"Alright then." She pulls up the hood of her cloak—pure white—and turns toward the city that sits just beyond the hill they're standing on. Her eyes settle on the ruins of Beacon, and she studies it sadly. She wonders if Ozpin is watching her—wonders if this is why she was chosen. "Let's go try and knock some sense into the Sun Dragon."


	2. nameless here for ever more

Weiss' winter gaze passes over the ruins of Beacon.

She swallows hard, making a face at the taste of bile, before continuing on. She'd told Qrow she wouldn't try and stop the execution, and that's true. Once upon a time, she knows she would have stuck her nose in the air and marched straight into Vale anyway. Once upon a time, Weiss Schnee didn't accept the words _you can't._

But the legendary pride she'd once wrapped herself in like a priceless cloak of spun silver has since been tarnished and torn. There is no pride in survival.

So while she admits—quietly, to herself—that Qrow is right and any attempts to save Velvet Scarlatina are nothing short of a death wish, that doesn't mean she's content to ignore the entire execution.

She hasn't seen Yang Xiao Long since she ran from the halls of Beacon, Qrow's eyes—as red as the blood on her hands—burned into her mind's eye. She has to know what changed the brawler so drastically she would enlist into the Altesian Army. What could possibly provoke Yang into taking orders from a Schnee?

Her stare keeps wandering back to the ruins, and she pauses to survey them properly. She hadn't been present for the school's destruction—she'd been halfway to Mistral by then, determined to outrun the swords at her back. Determined to outrun death.

She takes in the shattered buildings, the piles of stone and rubble. Gears, rusted beyond recognition, stick out of the ground. Wood structures have been nearly eaten away by time and the elements and lay splintered in the sun. She squints, wondering if there's any trace of the statue that had once stood proudly in the center of campus.

She thinks if she sees that—a symbol of pride and prestige she had passed a thousand times—cracked and shattered and burned beyond recognition, it will make it real for her. Beacon will truly be gone.

"Hey. Kid."

Weiss spins, eyes blown wide in panic.

It's a man, she realizes, trying to disguise her alarm with a mask of frigid annoyance. He stands only a little taller than she does, and carries a scar across his nose. Her eyes are drawn to the shine of a sharpened spear tip that peeks out over the edge of his broad shoulder.

She curses her lack of vigilance. Qrow would berate her endlessly if he saw her drop her guard like this.

"What'dya want?" she asks, purposefully dirtying her tone with an inarticulateness that cloaks her proper Atlas accent.

He smirks, and she knows he isn't fooled for a second. Her eyes narrow.

"I like your hair cut," he tells her, and Weiss' hand automatically springs up to touch the ragged ends of hair that just brush her shoulders. She'd chopped it off in a fit of childish rage the first time she'd been recognized while on the run.

"You're Weiss Schnee, aren't you?" he asks, tilting his head and trying to peer into the shadows cast by her cowl.

With a face like thunder, Weiss yanks back her hood. "Good eye," she compliments him coldly. "Very astute. I hope it's worthwhile."

"You've got a pretty price on your pretty head," he tells her. Weiss bares her teeth as he pulls his weapon off his back, lips quirked in black humor. "I think that lien will make it very worthwhile."

A double-edged pike gleams in the light as he levels it before her, and Weiss scans it end for end, trying to decide her best play.

"You're making a mistake," she warns him, her voice sharp like broken glass. "Leave now, and you'll live." She stares him down. "Remain here, and you'll deeply regret it."

"Sorry kid," he replies, and a savage grin splits his face. "But you aren't half as scary as you think you are."

He lunges and she rolls to the side, drawing Myrtenaster with a shrill cry as she pushes back to her feet. He swings down with his pike and Weiss meets his strike head on, drawing a shower of sparks and a chorus of steel shrieks from the contact.

Holding him locked in place with her blade, Weiss twists inward, throwing a bony elbow into his stomach. His breath leaves him with a gasp and his lance goes slack against Myrtenaster and he stumbles back.

She surges forward to disarm him, but he recovers more quickly than she anticipates and pulls his weapon out of range before she can. Trapped awkwardly in her own momentum, Weiss can only watch as he whips his lance around, using the shaft to strike at the back of her legs.

With a cry, she goes down hard, her knees buckling under the pain. She just manages to roll out of the way as he stabs downward where she'd been a breath before. His skill prickles her instincts. Most sellswords she's crossed paths with have been sloppy and careless, the desperation of their situation worsening their already inadequate form. This man is none of those things.

She struggles to stand, managing to only rise to a knee. She flicks a trigger on the side of Myrtenaster's hilt and the rotating Dust chamber within the guard spins as the man advances toward her, swinging his lance around to readjust his grip.

She hurls herself into a backwards summersault as the man's pike comes whistling towards her. His missed strike costs him dearly, as his weapon is embedded in the hard dirt of the hillside.

Weiss sees her chance and seizes it, sweeping her arm out to summon a tight circle of white glyphs, effectively trapping herself and her opponent inside.

He manages to free his weapon from the earth, and takes a quick look around, noticing he's been caught in her ring of glyphs.

He raises an eyebrow. "What now, kid?"

Weiss' jaw goes taught as she lifts her blade. She doesn't need to look at the Dust chamber. When Schnees are in a pinch, there's one element that will always come to their aid.

She slashes upward with her blade and a column of ice spirals up out of the ground, ensnaring his legs in a quick-freeze.

He looks down at his legs as Weiss lowers Myrtenaster with contentment.

"Now," she begins. "Since it's clear you aren't going anywhere, perhaps you'll be a little more cooperative."

He glances up and their eyes clash. Her grip on Myrtenaster tightens.

"Oh kid," he says, in the smooth voice of a swindler about to pull the wool over the eyes of his next victim. "You think they picked me by chance?"

She feels the heat before she sees it, and her eyes go wide as he lowers his hand to the ice that traps his legs. She watches it—her mind screaming at her to move but somehow she's unable to—and the ice hisses as it melts.

"What?" she breathes. "They _picked_ you…?"

He chuckles at her stunned expression as he steps cleanly out of her frigid shackles, and her temper flares white-hot.

She aims Myrtenaster as the man makes to rush her again, and a black glyph blooms beneath his feet, jerking him to a stop and binding him to the spot.

He struggles to free himself, but Weiss' glyphs are more powerful than they have been in days since she dismissed Qrow, and her snare holds fast.

She approaches him with measured, even strides. As she walks, she flicks the tip of her blade to the side, and four smaller black glyphs materialize and attach themselves to his wrists and ankles, dragging him to the ground.

She stands over him, not a glimmer of remorse in her ice-blue eyes.

"I warned you," she says, her voice low and bitterly cold. "If you have any last words, I'll hear them."

The calmness of his eyes unnerves her as he gazes up at her.

"Run while you can, kid," he tells her, lips pulling back in a fearsome smile. "Because she's coming for you. For all of you. And you can't outrun her."

Weiss' eyes narrow to slits. Her suspicions had been correct, it seems. This man is no simple mercenary.

"Who hired you?" she demands, lifting his chin with the point of Myrtenaster to force their gazes to meet. "All of who? Who is she?"

His eyes glitter in the light.

"No one can save you," he rasps. "Not even your Guardian."

Hate flashes in her eyes.

"Rest in peace," Weiss whispers in a voice like cracking glaciers. The sunlight glints coldly off the steel of her blade as she raises Myrtenaster high above her before plunging it downward.

-0-

Yang's combat boots are the only noise in the square as she makes her rounds.

She casts her gaze around, hands tucked carelessly behind her head. If Winter saw her like this she'd scold the Captain senseless, harping on her about constant vigilance and proper battle stance.

But Yang knows herself well enough. She can arm and fire Ember Celica in the time it takes for a heart to beat. She's got the fastest draw in Remnant—it was the first rule of combat she'd ever learned.

_When you **have** to fight,_ Taiyang had told her, _punch first and punch hard._

She wonders, with a bitter sort of curiosity, if he'd approve of the punches she's thrown lately.

Of course, the answer is a resounding _no._

If Taiyang knew what she was up to, what causes she was lending her strength to, he'd probably kneel down before her, like he did when she was young and Yang would come home with blood under her fingernails and a black eye from a playground brawl.

_"Yang,"_ he'd tell her gently, taking her battered fists in his large, calloused hands. _"We Xiao Longs are dragons. We are fierce and we are strong. But we are not cruel."_

Stubbornly, she'd yanked her hands from his. _"I'm not cruel,"_ she argued. _"He deserved it!"_

Taiyang would arch an eyebrow, and she'd see that spark in his eye. That spark that always reminded her to never underestimate her father. _"Just be careful, Yang,"_ he said. _"Don't ever pick a fight you can't win."_

Which, to eight year-old Yang Xiao Long, was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. She was _Yang Xiao Long._ She towered over her peers and traded blows with upperclassmen. There was no fight she couldn't win.

It had taken a long time for her to realize the wisdom in her father's words. That not all fights were physical, and Yang's prowess in combat didn't cover all aspects of confrontation.

"Captain Xiao Long!"

Yang stops, turning her head to assess the two soldiers approaching her.

They snap her dutiful salutes, and she just rolls her eyes in reply, dropping her arms to her side. "What?" she asks bluntly. She gestures with her hand. "Report, or whatever."

"Scouts to the east of the city have reported a flash in the hills above the Beacon ruins," the first soldier rattles off with the kind of rigid formality that makes Yang want to puke all over his perfectly shined shoes.

She arches an eyebrow. "A flash?" she repeats, unimpressed. "What kind of flash?"

"We suspect it was the shine of a weapon," the second soldier explains. "As there were also sounds of combat."

This piques her interest. "A fight? Between who?"

The soldiers exchange looks. "We found a body," the first admits quietly. "We have no concrete identification yet, but we think he was a bounty hunter of some sort."

Violet eyes narrow. "Was he Black Sun?" she demands.

"He wasn't a Faunus," the second soldier offers. "But, we don't know who he was working for."

Her hands settle on her hips. "Well? What do you know?"

The soldiers glance at each other once more, and Yang gets the distinct impression they're having a silent debate as to who has to tell her. Her expression sharpens.

"I _said,"_ she begins in a voice that promises nothing but the fury of the Sun Dragon if they keep wasting her time. "What do you _know?"_

"There were shards of ice," one of them blurts. A feeling of uneasiness uncoils itself in the pit of Yang's stomach. "And the—the fatal wound in the man's chest, it, well, it matches the size of—"

"Myrtenaster," Yang answers in a voice like barbed wire.

It's an odd thing to remember, she supposes, the name of a weapon that isn't even yours. But then she's not about to forget the name of the weapon that slayed her uncle. Or its wielder.

"We believe the outlaw Weiss Schnee is in those same hills, or at least close," the first soldier concludes, as if Yang hadn't made that exceedingly obvious. "Permission to sweep the area and take her into custody?"

"Denied." There's a snap of finality in the Captain's voice that neither soldier dares to contest. She turns on her heel. "I'll lead a team myself. Secure the perimeter," she orders, striding away. "No one comes in or out."

"But what about the execution?" one of the soldiers calls after her.

"With any luck," Yang growls to herself. "It'll get an addition."

-0-

"Good God," Jaune whispers hoarsely.

Ruby just sets her jaw, kneeling beside the corpse. "He hasn't been dead long," she murmurs, squinting as she inspects the wound in his chest. She's not a huge authority on mortality, but she's seen enough dead things to know.

The blond man swallows unsteadily, fingers tightening reflexively on the hilt of his sword. "Ruby," he begins. "Ruby, the _ice—"_

"I know," Ruby cuts him off sharply, pushing herself to her feet. She draws her cloak tighter around her as she frowns down at the body. "But, Jaune, Weiss isn't the only person with ice powers." She toes the small puddle that has gathered around the ice shards. "Or water powers, apparently?"

"It's like he melted the ice," Jaune says, studying the jagged pieces of ice that jut up from the ground. "What are the odds of that, huh? His Semblance must have been heat or something."

Ruby swallows hard. She doesn't believe in coincidences like that. She doesn't believe in a lot, anymore.

"We need to keep moving," she says, turning to leave. They'd been on their way to the capital—to the execution—but they'd been appropriately distracted by the dead body in question. "I don't like this."

Jaune frowns. "Ruby…you know Weiss isn't, well, the same Weiss. I mean, she killed Qr—"

"I _know,_ Jaune," she interrupts, her silver eyes flashing. "I just don't think it's a good idea to hang around—"

"Hey!"

The two Hunters look up in alarm to see an armor-clad Atlesian soldier pointing from the bottom of the hill.

But not at them.

A small boy with a stark white cat tail swishing anxiously around his ankles cowers before the soldiers who towers over him. Ruby's eyes go wide. He must have wandered out here from the capital.

This is their chance. Their only chance. Her gaze falls upon the rubble that was once the most magnificent building on the continent. Remnant's shining Beacon. Any moment now, the soldiers will look to the top of the hill and they'll have nowhere to go. They either break east for the ruins or they stand and fight.

"Hey! I asked you what you're doing way out here!" the soldier demands, and Ruby's gaze swings back to the scene at the foot of the hill. The boy's dark hair falls in waves across his brow, and his nut brown skin shines in the light. He stammers out an answer, but fear turns his words into tangled gibberish.

"Captain Xiao Long will be here soon!" another soldier yells. "Are you prepared to face the wrath of the Sun Dragon?"

The threat isn't directed at her, but Ruby feels a fire roar through her veins all the same. She has just as much Xiao Long blood in her as Yang does. She's not going to run. Her protective instincts—her Huntress instincts—howl at her to take a stand, and so she does.

"Ready to fight?" she asks without looking at Jaune.

"Or die trying," Jaune mutters back which, if Ruby's being honest, isn't the response she would have chosen, but it's all she gets and so she cups her hands around her mouth and yells as loud as she can: _"Hey!"_

Immediately, every eye turns to her, and Jaune shifts uneasily beside her.

"Hey?" he repeats quietly. "That's it?"

"You take the left, I'll take the right, and we'll meet in the middle," Ruby instructs beside him, scanning the small group of soldiers before them. "Nonlethal," she tacks on.

Jaune rolls his eyes. "Thanks for the reminder," he drawls.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ruby watches as the Faunus boy takes off running, quickly disappearing into the heavy forests that shroud the hilltop. She hears the clamor of footsteps and turns back to see they've been surrounded.

"Remove your hood!" the one closest to her barks. "It is criminal to conceal your face in the presence of an Atlesian soldier!"

In response, Ruby draws Crescent Rose, flipping it around in her hands as it unfolds itself. The edge of the scythe gleams in the light and she slams the butt of it into the ground, cracking the packed dirt. It's a move of intimidation that makes up for her small stature.

Beside her, Jaune's sword clears its sheath with a dull ring, and his shield expands in his hand. It doesn't actually mean anything, it's just the most dramatic move he can manage with the tools he's been given.

There's a murmur of surprise and the soldiers retreat back a few steps, alarmed at the display. A small smirk quirks Ruby's lips, visible just below the shadow of her hood.

So much has changed in her life.

But combat is always the same.

-0-

"They're postponing it?" Blake demands.

Sun shrugs, scratching at the back of his neck. "I don't know," he admits. "Maybe they lost their nerve."

She shoots him a withering look, and he holds his hands up in defense. "Okay, okay, obviously that's not really what happened."

"It is strange," Scarlet mutters beside them. The swordsman rubs his jaw thoughtfully. "They looked all ready to go when I checked the place out earlier."

"Something happened," Blake murmurs. Her hand closes over the handle of her pistol—a nervous habit she can't shake. She longs for the familiar weight of Gambol Shroud against her back, but the weapon is far too recognizable in katana form, and so she settles for gripping the pistol like a security blanket. Few things have been a constant in her life, and she's grown very attached to the blade.

"Maybe we got upstaged," Sun suggests. "I mean, we're not the only people who go around trying to save Faunus." He throws Blake a sideways look. "Coco escaped Beacon, didn't she?"

Blake tugs absentmindedly on the ends of her jacket. The fall of Beacon is not a memory she enjoys calling upon.

"I think so," she answers, staring at the ground. She distinctly remembers seeing CVFY's leader bash in the skull of a Beowolf with her handbag that night. Blake had turned to assist the older girl, but Ruby's cry rang through the halls and the Faunus had immediately sprinted off to find her teammate.

She hadn't seen Coco since.

"If anyone survived, it's her," Scarlet murmurs. "That girl was a beast."

Still, anxiety clutches Blake's stomach. The Atlesian Army is methodic and routine. They don't just _postpone_ things. Not without a damn good reason.

Was Coco that reason?

"Sun," she murmurs, and the Faunus' storm dark eyes settle on her immediately. "Have you heard anything from Neptune?"

He blows out a breath, raking a hand through his hair.

"No," he answers quietly. "No, I haven't."

She nods. She misses the trident-wielder's cocksure smirk and genuine concern.

"He said he'd be back," Sage's low and steady voice joins them as the large boy walks up. He folds his arms across his chest. "He'll be back."

"He said he'd be back _three days ago!"_ Scarlett protests in a razor-sharp whisper.

Blake just sets her jaw as the two dissolve into an argument. She throws her gaze around the small town they've been staying in for the past few days. She remembers coming here a time so long ago it feels like another life entirely.

She and her teammates had wandered out here when the capital was closed off for Vytal Festival preparations. It's odd, Blake muses, how some places can stay the same even when so much else has changed. Team RWBY didn't even exists anymore. Now they were a wayward Huntress, a wanted criminal, military captain, and, well. Whatever Blake was.

A rebel? A bounty hunter? A warden? Neptune used to joke she was Remnant's watchdog. She wonders if he was really wrong.

A dull, metal clanging elicits a quick twitch of her hidden ears and draws her back to the present. Blake glances up to see a small group of Atlesian soldiers entering the town.

She seizes Sun's forearm and ducks out of sight, trusting Sage and Scarlet to follow her lead.

"What is it?" Scarlet hisses, one hand on the curve of his pistol.

"Soldiers," Blake murmurs back. She chances a quick glance around the corner of the building they've taken shelter behind to watch as the rest of the town moves well out of the way, giving the soldiers a wide berth as they march through.

"Soldiers never leave the capital during an execution," Sage mutters. "Not unless they're accompanied by—"

Golden hair flashes in the light, and Blake's grip on Sun's arm tightens involuntarily.

The Sun Dragon strides through the town without a glimmer of interest in her violet eyes. Blake knows she should hide her face, but can't seem to look away from her old partner. Their last encounter had been just a quick scuffle at the execution in Vacuo, and Blake had just managed a few strikes with Gambol Shroud and seen nothing more than a crimson flash in her once-best friend's eyes before Sage had seized her by the back of her jacket and yanked her away from the fight.

But now here she is—marching through the town as the citizens hide in the shadows—like a proper dictator.

"Do you wanna follow her?" Sun asks softly. "See what she's up to?"

But Blake shakes her head. "No, we stick to the plan," she instructs lowly. Her eyes flash to the path that will lead them to the capital—to where she knows Velvet Scarlatina's life still hangs above the gallows.

"Winter will still be there," Sage points out.

"I know," the dark-haired woman replies. She turns her back on Yang. "Without her pet dragon, I have a feeling she'll melt fairly quickly."

"And Penny?" the tall boy presses. "You think she'll melt too?"

Memories of Beacon's fall come rushing back to her.

She runs through the halls of the school, passing Grimm and Hunters battling it out. She longs to stop and help, but forces herself onward. She sees Nora knock the head of a Beowolf clear off with a swing of her hammer and a King Taijitu rears up and bares its fangs at Neptune, who sets his jaw and drives his trident directly into its maw.

Her eyes scour every inch before her, hoping desperately for a flash of red, when she hears another shrill cry pierce through the clatter of combat and she's running again, gripping Gambol Shroud so tightly it hurts.

She finally finds her leader, bursting into the classroom with her blade drawn and lips pulled back in a snarl, but she finds no Grimm in the room.

Just Ruby, legs dangling in the air, chocking on her words, as she's held aloft at the throat by Penny Polendina.

"No," Blake answers quietly, closing her eyes against the memory. "I don't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Hopefully you found this chapter to your liking. I got a lot of positive feedback from the first chapter and hope this is a worthy sequel. I'm getting a lot of questions about the fates of characters, specifically Pyrrha and Nora, and promise you'll know in good time. I know it's annoying when things are kept in the dark, but it's all part of the drama or whatever.
> 
> And if you're a student studying for finals, godspeed friend.


	3. this is it and nothing more

Steel sings as Ruby parries a blow from one of the soldiers.

It's been a long time since she's fought anything but Grimm, and the noise is jarring to her. The guard goes down with a sweeping strike to his ankles and Ruby takes the moment to throw a glance over her shoulder to check on Jaune.

She tries to remind herself that he's a full-fledged Hunter—same as her—but it's so hard to unlearn protective instincts towards the boy she'd spent her years at Beacon encouraging and defending.

She watches as he ducks a swing from the soldier's baton before following up with his shield and smashing it into the man's face.

Ruby chuckles. No one does nonlethal combat quite like Jaune Arc.

She still remembers finding him. She'd been alone for so long, drifting miserably from Kingdom to Kingdom, searching for her friends. She'd chanced upon Jaune outside a lakeside inn in Vacuo. He'd been searching too: for Ren and Nora. And of course, Pyrrha.

Ruby had nearly blurted the truth out then and there. That she _had_ seen Pyrrha.

Or more importantly—what Pyrrha had become.

But Jaune's eyes had shone so brightly and his voice had been full of such genuine confidence that she couldn't bring herself to do it. He was like the sun—and her words would bring him to supernova.

So they'd joined up, and Ruby had quietly nursed her secret as the two discussed what they had been up to since Beacon fell.

Jaune had crossed paths with Blake and Team SSSN, who he said were glad to see he survived Beacon's destruction. He explained he hadn't wanted to linger though. He felt no animosity from the Faunus and her friends, but he had enough sense to know that just because people didn't pull swords on you, didn't mean it was a welcome invitation to hang around.

Ruby in turn had told him about Weiss—how the girl she would have killed and died for ran her uncle through like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jaune told her he had already heard about Weiss' betrayal from a newsstand in the sandy Vacuo city of Sivitag.

"I didn't believe them though," he'd told her. "I mean Weiss always had something to prove, but, killing Qrow?" he'd shook his head. "I can't believe it."

"People change, Jaune," Ruby responded softly. If he couldn't accept Weiss' disloyalty, he was never going to be able to come to terms with what had befallen Pyrrha. "That's just the way of things."

He chewed his lip in thought. "People change," he had agreed. "But even if Weiss really—I mean honestly, in her _bones_ —wanted to kill Qrow, do you think she could have?" He'd looked up at her, lifting a brow. "Weiss was good, but Qrow was a legend."

Of course, that thought had occurred to Ruby. It had occurred to her the moment the cobblestones of Vale had ran red with her uncle's blood. _How?_ she'd thought, eyes growing wide. _You were the best, Qrow. How could she beat you?_

_"Ruby!"_ Jaune shouts.

The Huntress' eyes go wide as she's jerked from her reverie and realizes her mistake. The baton of one of the soldiers hums with electricity as it swings towards her. She yanks Crescent Rose around but her eyes do the math quickly enough—she's too late. She's already resigned herself to catching a face full of voltage and planned her counterattack when it all becomes irrelevant.

A shield—so powerful and imposing it could almost be called an _attack_ —flares out in front of her. The soldier is knocked back a few feet by the sheer force of it and Ruby throws an appreciative smile over her shoulder at Jaune, who looks significantly less than pleased at her lack of focus.

"Thank you, Jaune," she tells him.

He lowers his arm and the barrier drops. He wants to say something—she can see him fishing for a comment by the way he works his jaw—but he keeps quiet.

Jaune has grown so much from the scrawny, awkward boy she'd first met. He's a worthy ally that Ruby freely admits she'd be lost without. But Ruby, well.

Ruby was Ruby.

Without missing a beat, Ruby slices down with Crescent Rose, embedding the curved scythe into the ground. Using the shaft as balance beam, she swings up, feet out to kick the soldier in the face and knock him down once again. She lands and pulls her weapon back into her hands to spin around and catch a second soldier in the stomach with the flat of her blade. The wind is crushed from his lungs with a strangled gasp and he goes down hard.

Jaune dispatches the soldiers on his side in a similar fashion, the steel of his sword flashing in the light as he cuts, ducks, parries and swings. The golden arcs on his shield shimmer and shine in the sunlight. Soon the pair stand above a mess of unconscious or groaning soldiers lying on the ground.

"Nice work," Ruby congratulates him.

"Same to you," Jaune replies. He squints suddenly, frowning at something on her face. "Hang on…" he trails off, reaching out to run the pad of this thumb along the curve of her jaw. Ruby feels the familiar warmth of Jaune's Aura as her skin stitches itself back together under his touch.

"One of them must have nicked you," he explains, pulling back. "You feel okay?"

She smiles, nodding. "I feel fine, Jaune," she assures him. She looks to the west. To the capital. "We should keep going, I guess."

Jaune pulls a face at this. "Keep _going?"_ he repeats. "Ruby, Yang's heard you're here by now. She's on her way as we speak, probably with more guards."

She shrugs. "Okay. So we fight." She clutches Crescent Rose a little tighter. "We're pretty good at that, if you hadn't noticed."

But Jaune shakes his head. "No," he insists. "No way. That's too much, Ruby. Even for you."

Ruby sighs, closing her eyes. "I'm not afraid of facing Yang, Jaune," she murmurs. "I'm afraid of a lot of things, but my sister isn't one of them."

"You should be," Jaune tells her bluntly. "Because if she comes marching in here with fifty guards at her back, we're history."

Ruby purses her lips unhappily. He's got a point. Yang would be a struggle to subdue on her own. Add in a handful of Atlas soldiers?

"But…I don't know when I'm going to get another chance like this," she whispers. The wind rolls through the hilltop, rustling the edges of Ruby's stark white cloak.

Jaune places a hand on her shoulder. "We'll get another chance," he assures her. "Ruby, I'm not trying to discourage you. I'm trying to keep you alive so we can _keep_ trying." He offers her a smile that doesn't touch his eyes. He's thinking about Pyrrha again, she knows.

She nods, turning away. "You're right," she agrees. She lifts her head up.

_"Keep moving forward,"_ her mother would always tell her. _"I'll keep going, too."_

"Keep moving forward," Ruby whispers to herself. Forward. To Yang and Blake. To Ren and Nora. To the thousands of Remnant citizens that still need protection.

"Ruby, I realize you're having a moment, but we might want to go," Jaune says, glancing over his shoulder. "Because I think this hilltop's about to get a little crowded."

Ruby looks too, and spies a flash of brilliant golden hair flanked on all sides by Atlesian soldiers.

"You can't escape me forever, Yang," Ruby says quietly. She turns to Jaune. "Come on. We'll hide in the ruins. They won't follow us there."

Jaune nods his agreement as Ruby settles into a sprinter's stance.

"Sure you don't want a ride?" she asks, pulling up the hood of her cloak.

"Not unless you want my lunch making a grand reappearance," Jaune mutters in reply. "I'll meet you there."

She throws a glance over her shoulder once more. "Sure you can handle her?" she asks, worrying her lip.

He waves her concern away. "I'll be fine, Ruby," he assures her. He tips her a wink. "The ladies love Jaune Arc, remember?"

Ruby's silvery laugh fills the air and in a flurry of rose petals, she's gone.

-0-

They really shouldn't have split up.

Blake's been alone for so long, she's accustomed to the darkness. She welcomes it, in fact—she wears the shadows like a cloak and crowns herself with the gloom. But Sun's absence weighs heavily on her as she sneaks around the Atlesian airship sitting just inside the city limits of Vale.

An Atlesian airship containing three Faunus, two swordsman, a disturbed General, and a murderous robot.

Quite the cast, Blake thinks to herself.

She slinks around another corner, hoping the boys have enough sense to stay well out of sight. Creeping about is second nature to her, but Sun is loud and boisterous and utterly untamable.

He burns from the inside out, glowing gold and throwing gray into her life that was otherwise black and white. He is light and warmth and the manifestation of good deeds. He is that strange thing people do where they bring each other to safe places.

And if Winter Schnee so much as points her blade in his direction, Blake will raze all of Remnant as retribution.

Blake's hidden ears twitch at a faint scuffle behind her, and she whips around, scanning the corridor.

They'd divvied up the duties between the four of them—Blake, Sun, Scarlet, and Sage. They made up the _Velvet extraction team_ , and she made up the _keep Winter Schnee the hell away from everyone else_ team.

Truth be told, Blake's growing a little uneasy. Winter shouldn't be this hard to find. She should have no idea they climbed aboard the airship at all.

Suddenly, the doors at the far end of the hallway slam shut, and Blake whirls to watch, eyes wide. She turns back, freezing when she sees her only exit blocked by the General herself.

"You thought, perhaps," the woman drawls, crossing her arms. "You could sneak aboard my airship without my knowledge."

Blake sweeps the corridor for an alternate route, and silently curses upon finding none.

"That was the idea," she replies steadily. She will not lose her head. She needs to focus. She has to keep Winter occupied long enough for the boys and Velvet to escape.

"You have made a mistake, Ms. Belladonna," Winter observes coolly, leveling Khione at the Faunus' heart. "You will not leave this ship alive."

Blake's calm expression holds as she pulls Gambol Shroud from where it's tucked away in her ash-gray jeans. With a practiced flick of her wrist, the weapon unfolds itself in her hands, until she holds the katana in one and the razor sharp sheath in the other.

"I'm warning you," Blake tells her lowly. "If you tilt your blade—if you force my hand—I will kill you."

Winter offers a sardonic smile. "That would be terribly ambitious of you," she replies in a silk-smooth voice.

Blake lifts a brow over a single golden eye. "Didn't seem to stop Weiss," she remarks. "Killing Qrow— _that_ was ambitious."

Anger spreads across the elder Schnee's face like rouge.

Winter takes a decisive step forward, her heel clicking hard against the floor. "Be careful how you speak about my sister, Ms. Belladonna," she spits through gritted teeth. "Very careful."

Blake's mouth twitches with distaste. "Maybe it's you who should be careful, General," she replies. Malice coats her words like venom.

Winter strikes first—Blake knew she would. There's something about the Schnees that cries out for the need to be _first_. The illusion of an advantage.

She braces herself as steel meets steel and Khione crashes against Gambol Shroud. Blake holds her there for a moment, meeting Winter's gaze over their crossed blades before she ducks the contact, pulling her weapon back and smoothly twisting away.

But Winter is not easily fooled. She spins, slashing out with Khione and Blake is forced to dodge with the aid of her Semblance, watching as Winter slices through a phantom of the Faunus. Blake resettles herself a few feet away, eyes narrowed.

"You're going to have to try a little harder than that, I'm afraid," Winter rebukes, shifting her grip on Khione. "I am the General of the Atlesian Army. I will not fall to the likes of you."

Blake just grits her teeth, triggering her Semblance again to mask herself as she darts forward. Winter instinctively swings at the phantom as the real version leaps over her, twisting in midair as she slashes down. Winter steps back and throws up her hand. A glyph blooms before Blake's field of vision, and Gambol Shroud shrieks as it's dragged against the General's shield.

The Faunus lands nimbly and Winter lowers her hand, dismissing the glyph. The two women assess each other coldly over their weapons.

"What are you hoping to accomplish?" Winter demands. "Your team is dead, Ms. Belladonna, your school in pieces. Yang Xiao Long—once the woman you trusted above all else—would kill you where you stood at my command." She assumes a proper fencing stance, eyes gleaming. "You have nothing. You are nothing."

"Your _opinion_ means nothing," Blake returns, her voice low and dark. "You think you're the first person to tell me I don't matter?" She scoffs. "You aren't even the first Schnee to do that."

Winter sneers. "Do not _speak_ about—"

"What?" Blake demands. "You don't like talking about Weiss? Can't stand the fact that your sister _murdered_ the man you—?"

Khione whistles towards her, and Blake stands perfectly still, tracking the arc of the strike. Just before the blade reaches her, she rouses her Semblance once more, this time pulling the trigger on Gambol Shroud in tandem. The Dust cartridge in her weapon snaps to attention.

A ghostly ice-sculpture of the Faunus is all that remains, and Winter's sword is embedded in the head of it. The General tugs uselessly, trying to free her weapon, but Blake is already gone, sheathing her weapon and sprinting from the airship's corridor to meet up with the boys and Velvet.

The irony, however, makes her smirk.

Ice caught in ice. The Schnees ensnared in their own vice.

-0-

Yang sees the flash of a white cloak and her world goes sideways.

Her first thought—unbidden and compulsory—is Summer Rose.

Which is stupid, because Summer Rose is dead. Which leaves only one other option.

Ruby.

Ruby Rose: Beacon's last Huntress, Remnant's Guardian, The White Reaper.

Yang's baby sister.

She surges forward wildly—absolutely no idea of what she's going to do or say—when she sees a swirl of rose petals and knows she's missed her chance.

The first time Ruby's been within her sights in years and she's gone. She angrily shifts her gaze to the other figure at the top of the hill.

If not for the familiar symbol on his shield, Yang doubts she would have even recognized him. Jaune has certainty grown since Beacon's destruction. He lifts his head and their eyes clash; sapphire against amethyst.

"Jaune Arc," she calls, beginning her hike up the hill. She feels the soldiers fall into step beside her. "Lay down your weapons and surrender. You can't escape."

"I don't know," Jaune draws back, swinging his sword in a tight circle to adjust his grip. "I'm pretty good at escaping."

Irritation darkens Yang's face. Everyone's a smartass today, it seems.

"Jaune, we both know I can lay you out in a second," Yang snaps. "Save yourself the embarrassment and give up."

"You might as well go home, Yang," Jaune tells her, watching as she draws nearer. "You obviously didn't haul yourself all the way out here for little ole me." He waves a hand at the near-empty hilltop. "Weiss is long gone, Ruby too. You're too late."

Yang curses. He's right, of course. Weiss' telltale ice has long since melted, and the rose petals brought on by Ruby's Semblance lay still on the ground.

Violet eyes flicker to crimson, then back again. Jaune sets his jaw, wary.

"Don't fight me, Yang," he warns her. "It won't do you any good."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Yang snarls at him. She throws her fists down at her sides and Ember Celica snaps to life, unfolding up her arms.

All around them, soldiers draw their batons. The crackling of electricity fills the air, and Jaune shifts his weight, gripping his shield.

"I'm not a criminal, Yang," he reasons. "Ruby and I have done nothing wrong."

The brawler pulls her lips back in a sneer. "Don't give me that," she snaps. "You've ignored the Atlesian Army since Beacon's fall."

"Ignorance is not defiance," Jaune reminds her shortly. "You can't arrest us just because we don't want to play nice with your soldiers."

"I can arrest you for any reason I see fit!" Yang shouts.

"You aren't angry at me!" Jaune insists loudly. "Yang, fighting me isn't going to change anything!"

But the Sun Dragon is long past listening.

Jaune blocks her first punch with his shield, but Yang follows up like lighting and he takes a hard shot to the side and goes down with a hiss of pain. Yang hauls back her fist to strike again, but Jaune throws up his hand and a brilliant golden barrier unfolds itself between the two.

She slams Ember Celica against it, but the shield holds. Undaunted, she rains down blows, but Jaune's Semblance is stronger than her rage, and eventually she sags against it, drawing a ragged breath.

Jaune watches her warily, watches as the guards fall back, batons slack at their side, watches as the Captain lowers her face, one fist still pressed against the barrier.

"It's not too late, Yang," Jaune tells her softly. "Forget the military, forget Winter. Come with us."

It's silent on the hilltop as Yang stands deadly still. For a moment—one senseless moment—Jaune thinks he's gotten through to her.

Then Yang lifts her head and he stares into the reddest eyes he's ever seen.

_"No!"_ she yells, and she triggers Ember Celica as she swings her fist forward. It crashes against the shield with enough force to crack it—the sound deafening in the quiet hilltop.

For a moment, no one does much of anything. Then Yang pulls back her fist again as Jaune prepares himself to pour every last drop of Aura into his Semblance when the blonde suddenly freezes, dropping her arms. A tiny vibration can be heard.

Shooting Jaune a look like molten lava, like this is his fault, Yang whips out her scroll. Her eyes fade back to violet as she reads the message, and she sets her jaw before pocketing the device.

"Captain Xiao Long?" one of the soldiers asks.

"We're going back the capital," she announces, turning her back on Jaune. "Winter wants to employ the help of our friend Penny."

-0-

Weiss picks her way through the ruins carefully.

She hates it here—a repulsion that she feels to her core. She hates the rubble, the debris, the wreckage. She wants no part in this.

"You're sure he said _she?"_ Qrow asks again, and Weiss huffs with irritation.

"Yes, Qrow," she returns icily, not turning to look at the Summoned spirit as she walks on. She selects her pathways carefully. Wouldn't it just be the cherry on top of a perfect day if she stepped on a stone and rolled her ankle?

_You'd deserve it,_ her conscience hisses. _You didn't defend Beacon. You let it fall. It's **your** fault._

A lead ball of guilt drops in her stomach. Shame twists her insides painfully, and regret gnaws at her thoughts.

_You should have been here, Weiss. Where were you when your friends needed you most?_

She was on a boat to Mistral, trying to look like she hadn't just _murdered_ one of Remnant's most legendary Hunters.

_You could have made a difference. You could have saved a life._

So many had died that night. There was no official list—with Ozpin gone, all of Vale was in an uproar. Eventually, the Atlesian Army had stepped in and held a mass funeral. Weiss had watched on a television in a bar as the four headmasters of the four schools burned four shrouds in honor of the fallen.

And when she saw Goodwitch—looking smaller and frailer than she'd ever seen—step forward to fill the role of Beacon's headmaster in the school's final moments, she'd finally cried.

"Hey, Princess, focus. Get it together." Weiss blinks in surprise as Qrow snaps his fingers in front of her face. She coughs self-consciously.

"Of course, forgive me," she murmurs, running her palms down her skirt to dry them. She'll be no good in a fight if she can't grip her damn blade.

She feels Qrow's ice-blue eyes on her, but ignores him as she continues on. Eventually, he speaks.

"It sounds to me like you've got somebody higher on the food chain looking for you," he remarks. "Someone with the ability to pick from a variety of sellswords."

"It's probably Winter," Weiss mutters, stepping warily over an enormous slab of stone. She recognizes the design from the dorm rooms and her stomach rolls.

Qrow shakes his head. "Nah, not her style," he rubs his jaw thoughtfully. "Winter doesn't care that you know she's after you. Whoever sent that chump wants to remain anonymous for little while longer."

"Splendid," Weiss grumbles. "Maybe it's Cinder. Wouldn't that just be delightful."

"Don't be so sure it's not," Qrow warns her. "You did a number on her the last time the two of you crossed paths. She'd jump at a chance to take you out."

Weiss recalls the encounter with a roll of her eyes and a scoff. Cinder had heard about Qrow's death—about Weiss' murder—and sought the outlaw out.

When Weiss had coolly refused her offer of an alliance, Cinder had turned on her, and Weiss had beat her nearly an inch of her life.

That was back before she'd grudgingly accepted that killing those who wanted to kill her would save her an awful lot of trouble. Back when Qrow had been the first person she'd ever killed.

Cinder had given as good as she got though—Weiss still bared burn marks across her back from a misstep that had nearly cost her her life. If Qrow hadn't stepped in, she'd be dead.

"It could be anyone," Weiss mutters. "Remnant is effectively controlled by the military. If anyone turned up on Winter's doorstep with my corpse, they'd be promoted to Assistant General in a second."

Qrow barks a laugh, and Weiss shoots him an annoyed look.

"That's why I like you, Princess," he remarks, flashing her a toothy grin. "Always dark and gloom and corpses. Very nice."

She rolls her eyes, tucking short strands of hair behind her ear as they trek onwards.

"I was well on my way to becoming an optimist, you know," she tells him airily. "Then I met _you."_

He chuckles. "Winter used to tell me the same thing," he says. "She'd blame me for all her bad traits."

Weiss stops, turning around to look Qrow dead in the eye.

"How can you do that?" she asks quietly. "Talk about her as if—as if—"

"As if she isn't trying to take over the entire continent?" Qrow supplies dully. "As if she isn't trying to kick-start a Faunus genocide? As if she's not doing everything in her power to destroy you—and, by extension—me?"

"Yes," Weiss replies stiffly. "That."

He shrugs, dragging a hand through his snowy hair. "I don't know," he admits. "It's just Winter. I don't know how to explain it." He peers at her. "I mean, it's not like you hate all your old teammates, right? Yang obviously wants to rip you to pieces, Blake's never needed a reason to work against the Schnees, and Ruby still thinks you killed me in cold blood—"

"I did," Weiss tells him stubbornly.

Qrow just shakes his head, laughing softly under his breath. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Princess," he tells her.

She snorts at that. She's not going to sleep well until she's dead.

"I don't hate them," she murmurs. "But they hate me."

Qrow shrugs. "People change, Weiss. You're living proof of that."

Weiss doesn't reply. She just stretches out her hand, and summons a small glyph in her hand. Her eyes trace the Schnee Family crest in the center with a frown.

"How much can people really change?" she asks softly.

-0-

The stadium is dark.

Neptune stumbles on, using the glow of his weapon to guide himself as he makes his way through the halls of the abandoned Mistral arena. Once upon a time, this place had been the host of the regional tournament—one of the most prestigious titles a future Hunter or Huntress could claim.

The dark doesn't bother him, nor does the melancholy nostalgia this place holds.

It's the feeling of being watched—the weight of eyes on his back—that puts him on edge.

He ends up in the large open ring that had been the stage for many historical fights. He had even fought here once—so long ago it feels like a separate lifetime entirely.

The distinct click of heels echoes around the old arena, and Neptune grinds out a swear, swinging Levin Tierce around and watching as it lengthens into a guandao. It throws off a faint blue glow, illuminating the area around him in watery light.

His eyes search the darkness, anxiously clutching at his weapon. The footsteps grow closer, and he wildly thinks of all the enemies he knows that wear heels. Winter, Weiss, Cinder. Faces flash before his mind's eye and he works his jaw in anticipation.

Golden armor gives off a dull sheen as the stranger draws closer, and Neptune tenses, coiled like a snake—

A flash of red hair catches his vision, and his jaw goes slack as a young woman steps into his line if sight, looking very much like she had the last time he'd seen her many years ago.

_"Pyrrha!"_ he cries. Levin Tierce clatters to the floor as he surges forward to seize the redhead in a hug. "Oh my god, _Pyrrha!_ I can't believe you're here!" He pulls back, holding her at arm's length, a huge grin splitting his face. "This is great! We—we never saw you after Beacon fell, we didn't know—" he breaks off, positively beaming. "I'm so glad you're okay!"

"It's alright, Neptune," Pyrrha assures him, gently extracting herself with a small smile. "I'm glad to see you too."

"What are you doing out here?" Neptune asks. He gives the woman a once-over, noting she looks relatively unscathed. He lifts his eyes back to hers. "Why didn't you ever come back to Vale?"

Instead, she just nods to his guandao, which lays forgotten on the floor. "Pick up your weapon, Neptune," she tells him, and there's something in her voice that makes him obey immediately.

"What is it?" he asks, his cobalt gaze sweeping the darkened arena. "Grimm? I imagine they'd take over a place like this pretty easily." He flips Levin Tierce around in his hand, and it expands into a trident.

He freezes as the golden edge of Pyrrha's xiphos is leveled against his neck, her calm face betraying nothing.

"I have a policy about attacking unarmed enemies," she remarks, utterly detached. "And you, Neptune Vasilias, are an enemy. Prepare yourself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again!
> 
> I hope you all are enjoying the story. Yang's chapter was definitely the roughest.
> 
> I think it's accepted pretty universally throughout the fandom that Jaune's Semblance would be on the defensive, yes? I hope that's not terribly off-putting.
> 
> And we finally get to see some Pyrrha, so enjoy that as much as you can.
> 
> Naming Neptune's weapon drove me absolutely crazy. I finally settled on "Levin Tierce." Levin like lightning and Tierce, a word that is used in a variety of ways but always has to do with the number three.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed. I'm off to get slaughtered by finals.


	4. darkness there and nothing more

"Blake!"

The Faunus freezes at the sound of her name, and turns to see Sun sprinting towards her.

"Sun!" she whispers as he reaches his side. Her fingers instinctively curl into the hem of his black jacket. "Where are the others? Where's Velvet?"

"Scarlet and Sage have her outside," he explains quietly. She takes note of a bruise blossoming across his right cheek with narrowed eyes. "Velvet's a little shaken up, but I think she'll rally."

Blake nods, but keeps her frown. "And why aren't _you_ outside?" she demands.

He flashes her a cocky grin. "Because I have a very hard time following directions," he answers. "Especially where you're involved."

A small smirk curves Blake's lips, and she pokes a finger in his chest. "You are going to be the death of me, Sun Wukong," she tells him.

His storm dark eyes dance in reply. "I sure as hell hope not," he says.

Her ears twitch beneath her beanie—an early warning system she knows she'd be dead without—and she whips her head around to see Winter burst into their corridor, Khione glittering like starlight in her hand.

Sun cocks an eyebrow as he shifts away from Blake.

"You okay there, General?" his hand disappears behind his back and Blake knows he's reaching for his weapon. "You look a little rough."

"Not nearly as rough as you're about to look, Faunus," she bites back, and Blake's eyebrows slant down in anger.

She smoothly pulls Gambol Shroud off her back as Sun withdraws Ruyi Bang and Jingu Bang from his jacket and the two stare down the elder Schnee.

"Hm, two against one," Sun drawls, twirling his staff in his hand. He mock winces. "Not the best odds there, General."

Winter just smirks to herself. "I have it on good authority that those odds are about to change," she tells him. "You remember your dear friend Penny, don't you?"

Blake's ears go flat against her skull, and she bares her teeth in a fear snarl.

"Coward," she spits. "Afraid to fight your own battles?"

But Winter doesn't rise to the dig. She simply offers a demure smile.

"Careful, Ms. Belladonna," she cautions. "Your temper betrays you."

"You would know," Sun calls, his words dripping with derision. "Schnees are kinda the resident experts on betrayal."

A glyph lights up beneath Sun's feet, and Blake takes him down with a tackle that wouldn't have won any prizes but successfully spares him from the razor sharp shards of ice that shoot out of the pure-white symbol.

"I'll not have my family name dirtied by the mouth of a Faunus," Winter remarks coldly, watching as the pair regain their footing.

Sun scowls, and Blake watches out of the corner of her eye as he switches his grip on his staff.

"Your massacre isn't going to last," Sun spits at her. "The only reason you can get away with it now is because you've got the continent running scared."

Winter gives a humorless chuckle. "Are you implying that you can change that?" she asks, incredulous and darkly amused. "You and the Black Sun?"

Blake grits her teeth, and sees Sun go still beside her.

In their defense, they hadn't chosen the name. Scarlet had picked it as a joke _("Because your name's Sun and Blake's always dressed in black!")_ but, regrettably, the name had stuck.

So they were the Black Sun—a mixed bag of Faunus and Humans who had risen from the still-smoldering ashes of the White Fang. It had really just started with Blake and Team SSSN interrupting the Atlesian Army's executions of Faunus, but soon word spread and pro-Faunus actions were taking place all over Remnant.

_"They need a leader,"_ Neptune had remarked when they first heard of the group's continent-wide influence. _"We have to regulate this."_

Naturally, every eye had turned to Blake, who scowled in reply.

_"I'm not a leader,"_ she'd replied, her tone chilled. _"Don't even ask."_

_"But, Blake, everyone knows who you are,"_ Scarlet had tried to reason. _"You're a member of Team RWBY—or, well, what **was** Team RWBY."_

Sage took over, folding his arms across his broad chest. _"You have to,"_ he had explained flatly. _"If the Black Sun has no one to rally around, it'll fall into chaos."_ His yellow eyes had flashed with dark awareness. _"It'll become the White Fang."_

_"That's not my responsibility,"_ Blake hissed. _"I didn't ask for this. I didn't **want** this."_

_"You don't have to do it alone,"_ Sun had told her quietly. Blake had reluctantly turned to meet his eyes—his thundercloud gaze clashing against her sunburst glance. He'd reached out, taking her hand in his, their calloused fingers knitting together.

She hadn't argued any further, but quietly she'd questioned the truth of his words. The closer she got to the light, the larger her shadow became. It was only a matter of time before the dusk consumed her.

"You must not truly believe in your cause, Ms. Belladonna," Winter murmurs, drawing Blake back to the present standoff. "Not if you still hide your heritage."

Blake's free hand jerks up to her beanie, the charcoal gray hat pulled low to her golden eyes, concealing her jet-black cat ears.

She'd long-since done away with the black ribbon of her youth. During her final year at Beacon, she'd felt confident enough in herself and the team that surrounded her to proudly display who she was—what she was.

But then Beacon had fallen, the White Fang was destroyed, Team RWBY tattered and worn. Blake had stood in the ruins of everything she had worked for—everything she had fought and bled for—and she quietly stepped back into the shadows.

_"Why?"_ Sun had asked her. _"You're not—you're not **scared,** are you?"_

_"Of course not,"_ Blake had snapped. _"I just want to be judged for who I am, not **what** I am."_

"Shut your mouth, Winter," Sun growls, aggression lining his words as he weighs his staff in his hand. He's itching for a fight—Blake can see it in the way he holds himself and the way his eyes shine like a storm. Gambol Shroud weighs heavily in her hand, and her pride demands conflict, but Penny's name is still screaming in the back of her name like a siren.

A round with the robotic solider would be a death wish.

She taps the edge of her weapon against the floor of the airship three times, her gaze never straying from Winter's face. Sun picks up on the message clearly. They've been working together too long for him to not.

Blake pull the sheath off Gambol Shroud, shifting her stance and watching as Sun bows his head to summon his Semblance.

_Drawing up a strategy that could fail,_ she reflects darkly. _How did Ruby stand it?_

-0-

_"Weiss!"_

The outlaw turns, frowning at the voice that tickles her memory. It's high and clear and carries cleanly through the ruins.

She gasps as Qrow seizes her arm in a steel-like vice and pulls her behind a fallen pillar.

_"Qrow,"_ she hisses, displeasure coloring her tone. "What are you—?"

But the Hunter raises a finger to his lips, and Weiss stubbornly swallows her complaint.

"Weiss, I know you're here!" the voice calls again.

Her ice-blue eyes widen as she finally places it. _"Ruby."_ She practically chokes on the name. Her mind begins to spin. How long has the Huntress been following her? How much has she seen? How much does she know?

"Run," Qrow orders. "Now."

Weiss flashes him a look of frigid irascibility. "Ah yes, outrun the girl whose Semblance is _speed._ Brilliant plan."

"You can't fight her." Qrow asserts. "She knows these ruins too well. She knows _you_ too well."

"I don't think I'm going to get much choice in the matter," Weiss remarks, readying Mytenaster with a hand she desperately hopes isn't shaking. She peeks over the edge of her hiding place and catches a glimpse of the Huntress.

Her heart cuts all ties with her chest and jumps into her throat.

Ruby looks remarkably like she had the last time Weiss had seen her. She's still irredeemably short, and sports a hooded cloak, though this one is stark white and blood-spattered.

But her face is older. Weiss can't see her eyes, but she knows they look lost. The same eyes Weiss sees whenever she catches her reflection in a wayward glass shard.

There's a shriek of metal as Qrow draws his greatsword. Clockwork Noir gleams in the afternoon light.

_"No!"_ Weiss hisses, lowering her blade to snatch at the spirit's arm. "You can't fight her, have you lost your mind? That would _destroy_ her!"

He turns to gaze at her, and she recoils at the look in his eyes. For the first time since Weiss had slain him, Qrow honestly looks dead.

"Dead men have only one advantage over the living," he tells her softly. "And it's the element of surprise." A grin splits his gaunt face, making the Hunter look nothing short of undead.

"What's dead should stay dead, Princess. Everyone knows that."

Weiss doesn't reply. She has no idea what to say.

The wind rolls through the ruins, and Weiss' eyes flash to the flap of Ruby's white cloak.

"She wouldn't kill me," Weiss murmurs. "She's a true Huntress. It would violate her oath."

"Ruby's a Huntress, that's true," Qrow agrees. "But she's also a Xiao Long. And Taiyang could hold a grudge something fierce." He levels a look at her. "Ruby may not kill you, but death's not the worse fate you can be dealt."

Weiss works her jaw, considering his words.

"Head North," Qrow advises her. "Make for Forever Fall. Then we can go to the docks and catch a boat to Atlas."

Weiss' face pulls together in anger. "Qrow, we can't _split up!"_ She gives the hand holding Myrtenaster a little shake. "You're only here because I'm Summoning you. If we separate, you'll vanish."

"It's the best shot we've got, Princess," he growls at her. He swings his greatsword around, adjusting his grip. "I'll stall her for as long as I can. When I fade, I fade." He turns to give her a severe look over his shoulder, and Weiss' hand reflexively tightens on the hilt of her blade as his eyes—ice blue like hers, like all the Schnee's spirits—flicker to crimson.

They change back in a moment, but the split-second switch is enough to make Weiss anxious. She doesn't know how Qrow does that, or if he even knows he's doing it. She vaguely recalls her sister talking to her father about restless spirits when she was young, but given her difficulties with Summoning she'd tuned the conversation out.

But now, as Qrow's eyes fade back to their typical iciness, she wishes she'd listened.

If he starts to fight her—if he grows restless—she's not sure what she'll do.

"Don't raise your blade, Qrow," Weiss warns him as she turns her back. "I mean it."

"Is that an _order,_ Wiess?" The outlaw freezes at the inflection in his voice. Her frigid blood flares red hot with anger and she grits her teeth tightly, refusing to rise to the taunt.

"It's common sense," she spits. She yanks up her hood and takes off through the ruins.

_Running away while a spirit fights your battles,_ she notes with distaste. _No wonder Blake always hated her Semblance._

-0-

Yang had never wanted to be a soldier.

Which she feels should be obvious, but apparently some people think she actually enlisted because she bought into Winter's _restore Remnant to greatness_ garbage.

She doesn't give a good goddamn what befalls the continent. Let it flood. Let it burn. It makes no difference to her.

She's here for one reason and one reason only: _revenge._

Revenge for her mother. Revenge for her father. Revenge for her uncle.

Her loyalty and duty had smoldered and seethed until it had burned away and left the ashes of retribution. Her family had been destroyed and disgraced, and Yang's pride had howled in protest.

So she'd sought out Winter Schnee—her lips curling at the name alone—and explained her desires: let her kill Weiss Schnee, and she'll do anything.

And so she'd been reborn, in a way. Draped in the heavy uniform of the Atlesian Army and anointed as the Sun Dragon. She'd stood through every ceremony, held her tongue (mostly) through every meeting, and saluted when she felt like it.

Winter had proven to be more helpful than she originally anticipated. The elder Schnee was sheer cold, but her skills with a sword were nearly unmatched. Yang had always assumed she had used her status as a Schnee to achieve the rank of General after Ironwood had stepped down, but she was starting to accept the fact that Winter simply deserved it.

She was still the coldest person alive, but at least she knew it. Nothing about the woman was sugarcoated or watered-down. Her temper was an unsheathed saber—cold as steel and on display for everyone to see.

So they met somewhere in the middle—the Sun Dragon and the Ice Queen. Winter tolerated Yang's lack of uniformity and general disregard of regulations and Yang in turn burned the Army's enemies to ash.

But it wasn't an easy alliance. The polarity of their moods made for hostile confrontation—Winter's need for total control clashed against Yang's desire for independence. Yang's biting sarcasm provoked Winter's icy ridicule.

And then there was Weiss.

Winter couldn't stand to talk about the family's disgraced heiress. Yang only brought her up when she was absolutely looking for a fight. The blonde sometimes questioned her superior's feelings on the outlaw. When push came to shove, could Winter really give the order for her sister to die?

Blood was a tricky subject, and one Yang wrestled with constantly. She remembers back to Beacon's fall—that terrible, terrible night—when she grabbed Ruby's arm and asked her to come with her. Together, they'd hunt down Weiss Schnee and bring justice to Qrow's death.

She'd never forget to look of horror in her sister's eyes.

_"Yang…what are you saying?"_ Ruby had whispered, searching her sister's eyes desperately. _"We're Huntresses, that would violate our oath!"_

_"And what about the oath of a team?"_ Yang had flung at her. _"Weiss betrayed us, Ruby! Doesn't that drive you crazy?"_

Her sister had stepped back and drawn her cloak tighter around her. _"I don't know who you are,"_ she'd said softly, her voice small and broken. _"But you're not my sister."_

It reminded Yang too painfully of the Vytal Tournament all those years ago. When she'd stood in the center of the stadium's stage and listened as the entire crowed had called for her disqualification.

Her blood had boiled. _No._ She hadn't been wrong then, and she wasn't wrong now. So she'd turned her back on her sister and marched away to pledge her fire to Winter.

The echo of her combat boots jar her from her own thoughts as she hits the cobblestone streets of Vale. The courtyard is still empty, but something's changed. If Winter is calling for assistance—from _Penny_ of all people—there's danger near.

She strides over to a smaller airship in Winter's fleet, punching in the access code and climbing aboard. There's nothing here expect for a cockpit and a tank. Yang's shadow looms over it as she peers through the tinted glass. She studies the robot's face, and for a moment remembers cheerful green eyes and an endearing pink bow. Her gaze hardens.

"Penny," she calls, her voice strong and clear. "Activation code: twenty-one fifteen."

Eyes snap open, and Yang steps back, wary. She punches a button on the side of the tank, and the glass slides back with a hiss. Penny pulls herself into a sitting position, looking like a marionette on unsteady strings.

She blinks once, twice, before her gaze focuses on Yang.

"Captain," she remarks. "You activated me?"

"Yeah," Yang answers. "The General needs you."

Penny's head bobs in understanding. "Of course," she makes to step out of the tank. "I'm destruction ready."

"Great," Yang mutters, deeply unnerved by Winter's reprogramming.

_She twists everything she gets her hands on,_ Yang thinks guardedly. _Of course Weiss had bolted._

-0-

Ruby sees a flash and spins on her heel.

Her eyes go wide as her gaze falls upon what is undeniably Weiss Schnee and she's a half second away from triggering her Semblance when she spies another figure that arrests her completely.

_"Qrow,"_ she gasps as her uncle steps out from behind a pillar.

Her eyes dart over his shoulder, where Weiss is disappearing through the ruins and every instinct in her is begging her to give chase, but she can't. She stares at her uncle, her mind absolutely reeling.

"Heya, kiddo," he remarks. He sounds exactly like she remembered. Her stomach heaves painfully.

"Qrow," she says again, and that's all she can do. Her footing fails her, and she falls to her knees, staring up at the thing wearing her uncle's face.

"Easy there," he cautions, frowning as she sits back on her heels, her cloak pooling around her as she gazes up at him miserably. "Come on, kid. Pull it together, huh? What would your old man think?"

"You're not real," she whispers brokenly. Her silver eyes shine with tears.

Qrow grimaces at her tone, running a hand through his hair—Ruby notes with a jolt it's pure white.

"I'm as real as I can be," he tells her softly. He crouches down beside her, resting his greatsword across his shoulders. "But I'm still dead, if that's what you're asking."

"Did she do this to you?" Ruby asks. She lifts a hand to gesture limply at his profile. Even his clothes are white, the cape hanging from his shoulders ice blue.

Qrow sighs, pushing himself back to his feet. He sheaths Clockwork Noir and instead offers her his hand. "Come on, Ruby," he murmurs. "You're stronger than this. Stand up."

She allows him to take her hand and he hauls her to her feet. She's still small, but he notes she has grown taller. His eyes trace the strap that runs across her chest, securing a shoulder guard to her left arm. She's still wearing a skirt, which amuses him endlessly, but her cloak unnerves him. She looks like Summer.

"I'm in the service of Weiss Schnee," he explains carefully. "But it's not what you think."

She swipes at her tears with the heel of her hand, and Qrow looks away, pretending he hadn't seen.

"How is it not what I think?" she asks, her voice rough with tears. "She _killed_ you!"

"She did," Qrow agrees. "But it's more complicated that that."

"What's complicated about murder?" she demands, and Qrow knows he needs to redirect this conversation quickly.

"Come on, Ruby," he says, spreading his arms and offering her a cocksure grin. "You know us Branwens. We've always got a trick or two up our sleeves."

She chokes a laugh at that, shaking her head. "Yang is working for Winter," she whispers, looking away. Her features twist with grief. "She wants to kill Weiss."

"A lot of people want to kill Weiss," Qrow remarks dully.

"Qrow," she whispers. She wets her lips, tasting her words, before blurting out: "Do you want me to kill Weiss?"

Her uncle raises a brow, like she's surprised him, and he takes a few steps closer, putting his hands on her shoulders. Ruby looks up at him, wishing she found familiarity in his icy face.

"Ruby," he begins in the low, calm voice she remembers from countless lectures. "I want you to do what you want to do. Do you want to kill Weiss?"

She swallows hard. "N—no," she forces out. "I don't."

And it was true. She was angry—of course she was. She may never be able to look at Weiss the same way again, and there would always be a rift between them. But enough to kill her?

Qrow's pushes back her hood, smirking as she looks up at him through her dark red locks. "Look at you," he muses. "A proper Huntress. Taiyang would be pissing himself with joy."

She laughs unsteadily, trying to pull away, but Qrow's hand snakes around the back of her head to pull her closer and plant a kiss against her hairline. "You've got a good head kid," he tells her softly. "And an even better heart. You'll do great things. Good things."

He pulls back, offering her a cocky smile, and she feels herself to smile back.

Then a glyph lights up beneath his feet, and her uncle fades from sight.

That's how Jaune finds her almost a half hour later, head bowed, shoulders hunched, sobbing brokenly in the ruins of Beacon.

"Do you think this is how Yang felt?" she asks, her voice hoarse from crying as Jaune places a hand on her shoulder. "Alone?"

"You're not alone, Ruby," Jaune promises softly.

But her heart doesn't agree, and Ruby weeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a rough couple of days. Hope it doesn't show in my writing.
> 
> Thank you all for your support. You make me want to keep writing.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://midwestern-duchess.tumblr.com/) if you're into that sort of thing


	5. merely this and nothing more

Metal clangs in the darkness as Neptune throws up his trident in defense.

Pyrrha's xiphos screams as it's dragged down the shaft of Levin Tierce, throwing off bright sparks that illuminate the Huntress' face and make her eyes shine like verdant fire.

Neptune shoves her away and swipes out with his trident, forcing Pyrrha into a neat back handspring to evade the attack. As soon as she lands, she grips her shield in her hand and hurls it at him. It gleams gold in the low light as it spins towards him, and he dives to the side to dodge it.

He watches with narrowed eyes as she holds out a gloved hand and her shield comes spiraling back to her. She calmly plucks it out of the air and assumes a battle stance, assessing her opponent over the curve of her shield while Neptune hauls himself to his feet, gripping Levin Tierce tightly.

Silence reigns as they stare at each other.

"Your performance is disappointing, Neptune," she remarks. There's no malice in her words—it's more like a serene observation. She sounds precisely like she had the last time they'd crossed paths at Beacon's destruction. They'd taken down a Death Stalker together before splitting up to assist their respective teams. She'd grabbed his arm in a tight grip as he'd turned to leave, her gaze sharp and commanding as she stared him down.

 _"Be careful, Neptune,"_ she'd ordered him lowly. _"You are dearly needed and dearly loved by many people. Do not get reckless. Understand?"_

Her concern had caught him off guard, but he'd managed an unsteady nod. _"Of course, Nikos,"_ he had assured her. He'd tipped her a wink. _"If you need me, just call."_

Her lips had curved in an amused smile before she'd nodded her acceptance.

He hadn't seen her since, and if he's being honest, this isn't the reunion he'd been hoping for.

"Pyrrha," he begins, trying to keep his tone calm and steady. He's in incredibly dangerous territory, obviously. If he doesn't figure out what's wrong, this Mistral arena will become his tomb. He doesn't know anyone capable of besting Pyrrha Nikos—himself included. "Why are you fighting me? What happened?" He lowers his trident. "If you just give me a chance to explain, I'm sure we can talk this out—"

Her xiphos throws off a crimson glint as it slices cleanly through the air. Neptune twists away, but he's not quite fast enough, and his curse echoes loudly in the darkness as the blade clips his shoulder.

He claps a hand to the wound, gritting his teeth at the pain, and pulls his hand away to see his glove darkened with blood. Pyrrha swings her weapon around, adjusting her grip, and Neptune decides to play the only card he's got left.

"Enough!" he yells. _"Enough!_ You said you wouldn't fight an unarmed enemy." He hurls his trident across the floor, and it clatters away into the darkness. He spreads his arms wide, ignoring the pain that flares up in his shoulder. "There. I'm unarmed. What are you gonna do?"

She tilts her head to the side in curiosity, her gaze drifting to the tiny pulse of blue light his weapon puts out before she looks back to him.

"You support the False Maiden," she explains, and her tone is cut in a way that makes Neptune feel like he should know this. "What more reason do you need?"

Her words throw him for an absolute loop. "What?" he demands. "What does that even mean? The False Maiden? Who—?"

"Silence." Pyrrha doesn't raise her voice, but the authority in her words rings loudly throughout the arena. She twirls her weapon around and her xiphos lengthens into a javelin with a series of clicking noises. "If you refuse to defend yourself, I feel no sympathy for you."

Neptune grits his teeth. "Pyrrha, you aren't making sense! What is the False Maiden?"

But the redhead is no longer listening, and as she pulls back her weapon once more, Neptune gets a good look at her face. He realizes his previous observations were wrong—Pyrrha does look different. Her eyes are cold and dark and wild. Her expression is hard, as though warmth and tenderness were dead in her. He sets his jaw. This is not Pyrrha Nikos.

But whatever it is, it's about to kill him.

He wonders if there's any sense in rousing his Aura. Sun would go ballistic if he knew his best friend had essentially rolled over and died, but at this point Neptune really doesn't see many other options.

He hopes his Team is safe, and he hopes Blake is with them.

She'll keep an eye on them, he has no doubt. She's secretly selfless—a closet advocate. With the boys at her side, she's an unstoppable force. Together, they'll be the ones to drag Remnant out of the shadows.

He just wishes he'd been around to see it.

He closes his eyes as Pyrrha's weapon whistles towards him. He's heard it's considered cowardly to refuse to look death in the face, but he can't stand the too-calm, too-callous expression of this not-Pyrrha. So he stands there, his thoughts turning to the subject of his Mistral investigation. The rumors that had drawn him to this dusty arena in the first place—rumors of a woman in white who traveled with a ghost at her side.

 _Hope you're still putting up a fight, Weiss,_ he thinks bitterly. _Hope you put on a better show than I did._

_**"Pyrrha!"** _

The call—the _scream_ —reverberates throughout the arena and Neptune's eyes spring open to see Pyrrha reining in her fatal attack to spin around, her shield raised in defense.

Her reflexes favor her. No sooner has she braced her shield arm than a figure comes leaping out of the darkness. Neptune sees the flash of fiery orange hair and the shine of a war hammer before a crack like the entire universe is coming undone erupts as steel meets bronze.

Neptune stands there—slack-jawed and stunned—before a hand snags his arm and a man steps out of the shadows, his face drawn and dark. Neptune wouldn't have recognized him without the telltale streak of magenta in his jet-black hair.

"Come on," Ren hisses, giving the dazed man a shake. "We have to move!"

Neptune allows himself to be led away before he pulls back, eyes going wide. "Wait, my weapon!" He turns back to retrieve it but Ren won't let him go, instead jerking him forward with a sharp tug.

"We don't have enough time!" he insists harshly. "Nora can only keep her distracted for so long!"

"But—!" Neptune opens his mouth to protest, but his eyes grow wide as he watches Pyrrha stab downward with her javelin. Nora leaps away and lifts the hammer sideways, blocking the redhead's strike with Manghild's shaft. Levin Tierce glows blue a few feet away, but Ren seizes Neptune by the back of his coat and hauls him away from he fight.

 _"Move!"_ he snaps, and Neptune obeys, turning to sprint away while the sounds of Nora and Pyrrha's fight resonate throughout the old stadium. Ren points to the seats that encircle the ring and Neptune nods his understanding, vaulting up to clamber over the wall that separates the spectators from the combatants.

"We always end up here, it seems," Pyrrha remarks as the two women circle each other. "You should know by now you aren't strong enough to beat me."

Ren throws a look over his shoulder, eyes narrowing as Nora sneers back at the redhead.

"Shut up!" Nora retorts, and Neptune has never heard such venom in her voice. Ren shoves him down beneath the first row of seats in the stadium's stands before leaping back down to the arena and drawing StormFlower.

They've grown, Neptune notes, glancing over the edge to watch the fight. He'd never really interacted with any members of Team JNPR outside of Jaune and Pyrrha, but he can easily see how Ren and Nora have survived since he last saw them during Beacon's fall.

Nora's fire-orange hair falls in curls just past her shoulders, with a few stray locks framing her jade-like eyes. His gaze is drawn to a brutal scar that begins just above her waistline and mars her entire left side, bare in her jet-black top.

Ren, in turn, seems to have let his hair grow as long as it will, and it's gathered messily at the nape of his neck. His features are sharper than Neptune remembers, his eyes colder. He's incorporated more armor into his attire, and Neptune winces as Pyrrha's xiphos clangs loudly against an emerald-green gauntlet that runs the length of his left forearm.

He catches her next strike with one of his blades and reaches up with his second gun to fire off a round of shots and point-blank range. To Neptune's disbelief, Pyrrha lifts her free hand in front of her face and the bullets seem to disintegrate in her palm.

"How is she _doing_ that?" he gasps at Nora, who has neared his hiding spot as she spins Magnhild in her hands, watching the fight and waiting for her opening.

"Things have changed a lot," she tells him shortly, her words laced with a certain darkness. She throws him a look over her shoulder. "You shouldn't have come here."

"Nora," he whispers, watching with wide eyes as Pyrrha grabs Ren's weapon by the blade and wrenches in out of his hand to hurl it across the room. "That's not Pyrrha, is it?"

"Oh, it's Pyrrha all right," Nora growls, and she launches herself forward, pulverizing the space between her teammates. Pyrrha swings out with her xiphos, and Nora bends backwards at the waist, barely avoiding the slice. Still gripping Manghild's handle, Nora flips over herself and swings the weapon upwards, forcing Pyrrha to leap backwards lest she catch a face full of war hammer.

Ren cuts in to strike and catches a boot to the face as Pyrrha twists around, kicking him solidly in the jaw. He goes down hard and Nora hauls her hammer back and throws it down for all she's worth. Pyrrha challenges the attack with her shield, and the clang of the weapons' collision rings painfully throughout the arena.

Neptune leaps down from his hiding place to kneel beside Ren, who has rolled out of range and holds a hand to his face, staring murderously at the redheaded warrior as she and Nora fight for the upper hand, their faces pulled tight in concentration, eyes set afire.

The noise echoes still, and Neptune grits his teeth as he surveys the scene.

"She's not strong enough!" he eventually yells, watching as Nora slowly loses her footing. Pyrrha presses her back with her shield with fierce and variegated countenance—like war personified.

"And I suppose you're stronger?" Ren bites back, his words tangled with cold hostility. He turns to face the other man, the entire left side of his face bright red.

Neptune's eyes flash to a pale blue glow that winks at him from the gloom. "My trident," he gasps suddenly. He pushes at Ren's shoulder to get his attention and points a gloved finger at the weapon. "Levin Tierce! It produces electricity!" He recalls the Vytal Tournament—so long ago it's like a dream—when Nora had seemed to absorb one of the combatant's electrical attacks.

 _"She'd lay you out in a second, Neptune,"_ Scarlet had remarked, tossing the trident-wielder a cheeky grin.

 _"Who here couldn't?"_ Sage had tacked on dryly, lips curving in a smirk as Neptune scowled at his teammate's ribbing.

The Hunter's rose-colored eyes widen with understanding, and he takes off like the strike of a snake. Pyrrha sees him and tries to wrench herself away from Nora to see what he's up to, but another swing from Manghild has the redhead back on the defensive.

Ren grabs Levin Tierce and throws it across the floor. It goes spinning towards Nora, who stops it with her foot, still fighting off Pyrrha.

Neptune sees is chance and takes it, rushing the distracted warrior and aiming a kick straight at her knees. Her golden knee guards take most of the hit and she keeps her footing, but her gaze swings to his in surprise just in time for him to haul back his elbow and drive it down into her face.

She spins away and turns right into Ren, who is waiting to whip her across the face with his pistol. With nowhere left to turn, Pyrrha can only stand there and take the hit. She turns back to face Neptune, and his stomach rolls at the angry red mark the weapon left.

But they've accomplished their goal—with Pyrrha distracted, Nora had bent down to scoop up Levin Tierce, briefly examined the triple points of the trident and, with a small, steadying breath, plunged it into her shoulder.

 _"Nora!"_ Neptune shouts. He doesn't know what he expected, but somehow this isn't it.

Electricity crackles around her as she shouts in pain. Neptune can only watch with horror as she endures the bite of the trident's prongs for what feels like an eternity, all the while lighting sizzles and snaps around her, racing up her arms and spitting white-hot sparks.

With a cry, she tears the weapon out of her arm, and blood oozes sluggishly out of wound, half-cauterized from the heat.

She lifts her head and her gaze clashes against Pyrrha's as a wild grin—slightly insane—splits her face and she swings Manghild with everything she's got. Pyrrha raises her shield again, and with another tremendous, god-like noise, the weapons meet. They seem evenly matched, and Neptune panics that it was all for nothing.

Then Pyrrha's shield shifts under the pressure and a crack splits the polished bronze surface.

Pyrrha's eyes go wide and he shield arm slackens enough for Nora to effectively knock it away into the darkness. It clangs somewhere in the distance and Pyrrha looks down into the eyes of her old teammate.

Neptune searches her gaze for some flicker of recognition, but he sees none.

"I don't need my shield to beat you," Pyrrha tells her lowly.

"No?" Nora questions. She lifts her hammer, but not offensively—off to the side, like a warning. "Do you know what the odds of being struck by lightning are?"

Pyrrha's eyes narrow, her hand tightening around her weapon's shaft.

"One in three thousand," she responds. Neptune gets the distinct impression this isn't the kind of information Pyrrha just knows off-handedly. It's almost like this is a conversation they've had before. Probably when they weren't trying to kill each other.

"The human body can survive significant amounts of voltage," Ren adds lowly, stooping to collect the second half of StormFlower before taking a stand at Nora's side. "It's the current that kills you."

"Currents take the path of least resistance," Nora goes on with that kind of forced nonchalance. Neptune notices she still holds Levin Tierce is a white-knuckle grip at her side. "Should that path be across your chest, your heart will stop."

Neptune realizes Nora's plan, and his eyes go wide.

"Lightning strikes at one-third the speed of light," she says sharply. "So tell me, Pyrrha," she flips her hammer around, raising it skyward. She then lifts Levin Tierce, crossing the two weapons at their shafts. Electricity pours out of the trident and dances up and down Manghild's handle. "Think you can keep up?"

Pyrrha might have made a move—Neptune can't remember. He just remembers Nora throwing both weapons down at her sides with a shout. As she does, a flash of stark white lighting bursts out from the spot where the two weapons had crossed, illuminating the darkened arena and striking Pyrrha directly in the chest.

The smell of sulfur drags up a copper aftertaste in Neptune's mouth, and he watches as Pyrrha collapses on the spot. Unconsciousness smooths her features, and she looks so much like the old Pyrrha—the Pyrrha who would tease him endlessly about his flirtatious ways, but then fall deadly silent when he brought up a bumbling, blond swordsman. The Pyrrha who he had met so many years ago at Sanctum—the Invincible Girl who achieved the kind of attention and status he could only dream about.

The Pyrrha that makes him sick to his stomach to see lying deadly still on the cold floor of an abandoned arena.

The clatter of a weapon draws him back to reality, and he looks sharply to his side to see Nora has dropped Levin Tierce with a hiss.

"I'm immune to lighting, not _fire,"_ she grumbles. Neptune opens his mouth to explain that the weapon can get overheated easily—that's why he wears gloves—but Ren has already grabbed his arm and his dragging him into the darkness.

"My trident!" Neptune shouts, reaching pointlessly for the weapon.

"She won't stay down for long," Nora explains, pushing Neptune from behind to keep him moving forward.

"So what do you expect me to fight with?" Neptune protests. "It's right there, just let me—"

Pyrrha stirs slightly from her spot on the ground and Neptune snaps his mouth shut. Ren ducks down to scoop something up and slams it hard into Neptune's chest.

"Here," the man mutters.

Neptune's breath leaves him with a sharp gasp and he looks down to see it's Pyrrha's shield. He stares at his reflection—split jaggedly due to the crack—before Ren is pulling him and Nora is pushing him and he has no choice but to follow.

He takes one last look at the ring, seeing only the shine of Pyrrha's javelin and Levin Tierce's soft glow. Pyrrha's furiously red hair gives off a dull sheen, like the embers of what was once a roaring fire that has since died out, flickering weakly in the darkness.

-0-

Emerald Sustrai was well-suited for a life of crime.

She always knew she was, really. She'd been raised a thief—born one, actually. She distinctly remembers her father sitting her down at a café in the middle of Mistral's capital when she was a girl.

 _"Do you like that woman's bracelet?"_ he'd asked her, nodding.

She'd glanced over her shoulder at the bracelet in question: a silver cuff set with emerald stones. Her eyes had lit up.

 _"So take it,"_ he'd suggested.

And she did.

And since then, she hadn't stopped taking. She took anything she wanted and some things she didn't. Sometimes she stole things just to see if she could. On the off chance that she was somehow caught in the act, she had a million and one excuses and exits planned. Thievery was a game, and Emerald was always the winner.

Then she'd met Cinder.

Cinder changed the game—changed Emerald. Why steal for fun when you could steal for a purpose? Slowly, Cinder had coaxed Emerald out her self-serving ways and convinced the thief to serve _her_. And Emerald—starved for attention, craving any sort of companionship or camaraderie after years of being alone—had eventually accepted.

Of course, then she'd met Mercury, and she'd almost backed out on her deal with Cinder on the spot. But the silver-haired boy had proved useful and sometimes he was a little funny and it's not like he was the worst thing in the world to look at, so the three of them had formed something of a team.

Neo was there too—when she wasn't off doing tasks for Cinder that were too underhanded and dirty for even a couple of lifelong criminals like Emerald and Mercury.

The point is: Emerald had found her purpose.

And then everything had gone horribly, _horribly_ wrong.

Cinder had miscalculated. Mercury had always warned her this would happen—that people like Cinder were volatile and mercurial and burned too brightly to last long—but Emerald had never believed him.

Not until she stood in the ruins of Beacon—alone again for the first time in years—and realized that the slight misstep Cinder had hinted at all those years ago at the Vytal Festival had apparently snowballed into the disaster laid before her now.

Beacon was never supposed to fall. Cinder had a plan.

But now it's been five years since the school's destruction, and Emerald had heard not a word from anyone.

Mercury had bailed far before Beacon was even under siege—fleeing at the first signs of trouble.

Neo had vanished from sight—transforming herself into yet another unassuming young girl before skipping off.

And Cinder….Emerald didn't know.

She had her hunches and her theories. Wandering around Remnant's Kingdoms has proved very useful to the thief—to the point where she believes she knows what happened to her old friend.

And she knows who is responsible.

So she sits at a dockside café in Vale, waiting for that person to show their face. She idly studies her reflection in a mirror. Her copper skin shines in the light, and her long jade hair falls to the middle of her back, her bangs pinned back away from her blood-red eyes.

Part of her wonders if she ought to wear sunglasses to conceal to off-putting eye color, but she decides against it.

A healthy dose of fear is a good thing.

She hears the chatter around her pick up, and flicks her gaze up to spy a young woman draped in a dirty coat and clad in boots worn nearly to the soles. She narrows her eyes at the blemishes on her skirt, easily noticing them for what they are—poorly washed bloodstains. White hair—chopped short and looking wild—falls out of the protection of the woman's hood.

Weiss Schnee. The Woman in White. The Ghost Queen.

A smirk quirks her lips, and Emerald calmly rises from her seat, brushing long strands of jade hair over her shoulder as she begins to follows the other woman.

Thievery isn't her only skill, of course. Her blade is nothing to scoff at, and the tantalizing bounty on the disgraced heiress' head will weigh in her pockets nicely.

And if she gets some revenge out of it—even better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is like, a filler chapter, if you will.
> 
> Still important information and important characters, but obviously it's not RWBY's perspective. It's like an interlude.
> 
> There will be a couple of chapters like this throughout the story, just so I don't dump the entire duty of world-building and character description on the RWBY narratives.
> 
> If you didn't like this chapter, I'm sorry, the next one will be back to your regularly scheduled Team RWBY angst.
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support, it really is what keeps me writing.
> 
> Thank you to the guests who have reviewed, because I can't reply to you directly but your reviews are still wonderful.
> 
> I hope you all are having a wonderful holiday!


	6. 'tis the wind and nothing more

"We need to tell them." Ruby's voice is absolute.

She toys absentmindedly with the clasp of her cloak as she and Jaune stand in the ruins of Beacon.

The Huntress has traversed this broken wasteland far too many times to be unnerved by it. She's grown used to the sting of tragedy and the bite of heartbreak. 

Her wounds have turned to scars, and she shoulders the grief with the promise that one day she will make things right.

Jaune cuts a sideways glance at his companion, noting the defiant tilt to her chin.

"I mean, it's your call," he tells her hesitantly. "But that's kind of our trump card. Are you sure you want to play it this early?"

She scoffs. It's not a pleasant sound.

"What do you think we should wait for?" she asks unkindly, waving a hand at the wreckage that surrounds them. "If we keep waiting, we'll be in the ruins of Haven next, or Shade!"

He sets his jaw, stifling a sigh. Schools are a dicey topic for Ruby, and she's already had a rough enough day as it stands. Qrow's ghost has unsettled her deeply—ruffled the feathers she's been determinedly preening since his death.

"It's your call," he repeats, biting his tongue. "I'll follow your lead."

He trusts Ruby—trusts her judgment. She's not like the others. She isn't blinded by revenge like Yang, or gripped by a twisted creed like Blake. Ruby will keep her head. He has no doubt.

She nods, and her fierce expression softens just a touch. "Thank you, Jaune," she murmurs.

It's a tender moment—rare in their constant cycle of fight and flight—and a wild sort of need seizes him and he blurts out the words before he can think better of it.

"Do you know what happened to Pyrrha?"

The question has been on the tip of his tongue for days. He can't place when exactly he started to suspect his scythe-wielding companion knew far more than she was letting on, but ever since he had come to that conclusion it had possessed him like a disease.

His words hang in the air like he'd screamed them.

Ruby goes dangerously still, her expression freezing. She tilts her head just slightly, assessing him at such a sharp angle Jaune feels like he's come face-to-face with a porcelain doll.

"What makes you ask?" she inquires softly. Her lack of emotion gives her away. There's no curiosity in her tone, no melancholy, no anger even. She's trying to mind herself.

Jaune feels himself go taut. He's right. He knows he is.

"Where is she?" His voice whips out so low and fast for a moment Jaune doesn't even recognize it as his own. He realizes Ruby is no longer looking at him, and instead has dropped her gaze lower. He follows her line of sight and finds he's reflexively seized the hilt of his sword.

She lifts her head and their eyes clash; silver against sapphire.

"I won't tell you." Her voice is soft but lined with steel. Her hand has disappeared inside her cloak and Jaune knows she's found Crescent Rose's hilt.

It's a warning—a severe one.

But his judgment is clouded by his anger. His conscience betrays him, and he stares her down fiercely. It won't come to blows, but part of him—that crazed, _team leader without a team part_ —wonders madly who would win if it did.

"I've followed you without question!" he yells at her. "And you won't tell me this? The one thing I want to know?"

"I never asked you to follow me," Ruby points out sharply. "And I never agreed to tell you anything." Her slate-colored eyes shine in the dying light. It will be night soon. She needs to end this before the sun goes down. They can't fight Grimm if they're too busy fighting each other.

"What if it was Yang?" Jaune demands. "Put yourself in my place. How would you feel?"

But Ruby shakes her head, not a glimmer of sympathy in her eyes. "You don't understand what you're talking about, Jaune," she says softly. She withdraws her hand from her cloak—weaponless—and lets her arms fall slack at her sides. "If you want to hate me, that's fine. If you want to leave, I won't stop you."

The howl of a Beowolf rips through the ruins, both Hunters turn towards the noise on instinct.

It quiets and they look back to each other.

"I won't fight you, Jaune," Ruby says, and he watches as she pulls Crescent Rose out from where it's stashed at the base of her spine. It opens like a King Taijitu baring its fangs at her touch. She turns her back on him, scanning the ruins for Grimm.

"Just tell me, Ruby," Jaune begs. "It's not like I'm going to run off—I swear! I just—I have to know!"

Ruby doesn't turn. The Huntress has spotted Grimm, and nothing else maters.

"Do what you want," she tells him, her voice far gentler than before. She means it. "Do what you think is right. That's what I'm doing."

And she's gone in a swirl of rose petals, dashing away to meet the enemy head on.

She ends her hyper-speed sprint with a sweeping swing of her scythe, cutting down the first Beowolf she sees. He falls with a gurgling howl and she flips the weapon around to slice through a second.

She's positively lethal. Crescent Rose shines in the dying lights as she orchestrates death after death. Grimm have made a home in these ruins, and every time Ruby passes through, she makes it her mission to clear them out.

The Grimm fall before her, and soon Ruby stands alone in what was once the continent's shining beacon. She closes her eyes, drawing a steadying breath. It would be too easy, she decides, to fall to the darkness. To let the anger and pain she feels pervert into hate. Ruby knows her power—knows her untapped potential. She could level all of Remnant if she so wished. Join Yang, destroy Weiss—destroy everything.

The White Reaper and the Sun Dragon. They could wipe out the Atlesian Army, the Black Sun too. They could rebuild Remnant how they wanted.

Her hands shake where they clutch Crescent Rose. No. She won't take the easy way out. She will continue her mission and she will honor her oath as a Huntress.

She swallows hard, opening her eyes. If only it were that easy.

Sensing a presence behind her, Ruby turns, coming face-to-face with a very determined looking Jaune Arc.

"You look like you've come to a decision," she remarks, letting Crescent Rose fall slack at her side. "Can I hear it?"

The Hunter stares her down, his blue eyes alight with resolve.

"I'll stay with you," Jaune tells her lowly. "And we'll tell them all. Weiss, Yang, Blake. I don't know how, but we'll do it."

Ruby nods, not trusting herself to speak. This is a side of Jaune she hasn't seen in quite some time, and it still unnerves her. It's like a shadow of pure anger has eclipsed the sun, and she stands staring up at it, blinding herself.

"And when we survive," he continues. "Because we will survive—because we have stupid, insane luck—you are going to tell me where Pyrrha is, what happened to her, and you're going to help me get her back."

Ruby nods once more, though she doesn't agree with his words in the slightest. They could very well be killed in a variety of ways by a variety of people.

And even if—by some, slim chance—they do survive, she doubts very seriously she'll ever tell Jaune. She's a fully-fledged Huntress who has faced down more than her fair share of terrors but a single thought of the scarlet-haired warrior makes her stomach clench in anticipation.

It's impossible for her to not feel responsible for what happened to Pyrrha. She doesn't trust herself to confess such a thought. Voice has a way of bringing life to ideas—even terrible ones like that.

But she says none of this. She just shoulders her weapon, scanning Beacon's tattered skyline.

"We'll stay here for the night," she says quietly. "The rubble makes for good cover, and I know these ruins well. We should be safe enough." She glances over her shoulder. "I can take the first watch, if you want."

Jaune shakes his head. "It's fine. I'd rather, if you don't mind."

She nods, disengaging Crescent Rose and tucking it back out of sight. For a moment they just stand there, staring at each other.

"She isn't dead," Ruby offers quietly. An evening breeze blows through the ruins, ruffling her hair. She's let it grow fairly long, but keeps it tied back, with only a few dark red strands hanging down to her shoulder, standing out starkly against the white of her cloak.

"I believe you," Jaune replies. A pause stretches between them. "After everything we've been through, I can't not believe you." He looks up at her, his blue eyes glittering. "You're a good person, Ruby."

It's a weighty title, given their environment, but she accepts it with a graciously bowed head. "I appreciate it," she says quietly. "Mom always told me you're only as good as the people you surround yourself with."

Jaune snorts. "Not like you have much choice," he remarks, drawing his sword to prepare for the long watch ahead. "You're stuck with me."

She chuckles at this, shaking her head.

"Who do you want to try first?" Jaune asks, watching as his companion sheds her cloak and spreads it out on the rocky ground.

She doesn't look at him, her silver eyes trained carefully on her makeshift bed.

"Blake," she finally answers. "Blake needs to be first."

If Jaune is surprised by her choice, he makes no comment. He doesn't care what order they choose, as long as it gets done. He climbs a ragged piece of what was once the grand tower and settles himself at the top, giving him a fair vantage point.

He has to find Pyrrha. He has to.

-0-

Weiss misses Qrow.

She'll fall upon her own sword before she admits it, but it's true. The spirit's shadow has served as a comforting guardian, and she's developed a steady reliance on his knowledge and skill.

She has other spirits at her disposal of course, but she finds them more challenging to control. She's bypassed many of her initial difficulties with Summoning, but she's by no means an expert at the craft. Qrow's compliance is critical to her success.

Of course, her status as the spirit's master grants her a fair amount of unshakeable power. If she speaks with a certain inflection—if she layers her voice with the icy dominance her father had always spoke with—Qrow cannot resist. No spirit can.

She's never tried it, and she hopes she'll never have to.

So they continue their curious dance. Not quite master and servant, not quite student and teacher. Never friends, but never adversaries. An alliance built upon murky promises and vague assurances.

Weiss is no fool—she's a Schnee. This game of charades is one she's well acquainted with. She knows Qrow has more in mind than what he's told her, just as she has more planned that what she's clued him in on.

It's a game of power she'd been taught as a child: never show your full hand, and never assume anyone has shown you theirs.

But as long as their goals don't cross paths, she has no interest in ever bringing it up.

For now, she focuses on the task at hand—securing a boat to Mistral without being discovered.

And judging by sideways glances and whispers that have stalked her since she's stepped foot in the docks, she has her work cut out for her.

Her clothes are a dead giveaway. Qrow had bereted her endlessly for them. The moment they'd found out she'd been associated with local legends about a Ghost Queen—a Woman in White—he'd immediately suggested she torch her current attire.

She'd stubbornly refused, clutching the skirt of her dress tightly.

It was a strong reminder of her past—the last remaining memento of her life before she'd struck down one of the continent's most accomplished Hunters. She'd clung to the sentimental value like an old fool, remembering with perfect clarity the day she'd bought it while out with her team in the Vale shops.

And now, it seems, her nostalgia is costing her dearly as more heads turn in her direction.

She continues on, trying to move as inconspicuously as possible. The undeniable Atlesian arrogance she'd been raised to flaunt is difficult to shake from her strut, just as her proper accent gives her away. She sticks out painfully in the rough docks of Vale.

She adjusts the edge of her coat to ensure it falls low enough to conceal Myrtenaster. The rapier is strapped horizontally at her back, and one hand hovers just above the hidden hilt.

She is just turning over the idea of waiting and using the cover of night and simply stealing herself away on a ship, when she is suddenly seized from behind and jerked backwards.

Her feet tangle over themselves in her haste to move away, and she falls hard against the form of her captor, who places a dark brown hand over her mouth as she's dragged backwards into the dock's back alleys. Weiss struggles, but without her footing, it's a laughably weak attempt. Her icy temper simmers as she's pulled into the shadows. When she gets a hand on Myrtenaster, this bounty hunter will be very, very sorry.

She's tossed unceremoniously onto the concrete floor of the alley, and immediately springs to her feet, snatching for her weapon's hilt.

But her assailant is faster.

The breath leaves Weiss' lungs with a strangled gasp as a fist crashes into her abdomen, prompting her to double over with wide eyes. The moment she lowers her head, her attacker brings up their arm roughly, the sharp bone of their elbow clashing painfully against the edge of Weiss' jaw, snapping her head back a drawing a yelp of pain.

A hand closes around her throat, and Weiss chokes out a breath.

"Well, what do you know," a low voice murmurs, barely audible over Weiss' noisy attempts to draw breath. "The Ghost Queen is just a stupid little heiress."

The speaker withdraws her hand and Weiss gasps in a lungful of air, her own hands coming up to curl protectively around her throat as she looks up with wide eyes.

Emerald Sustrai stares back at her, looking utterly unbothered by the entire situation. She surveys Weiss with a cocked eyebrow, her crimson gaze traveling the length of the other woman.

"I gotta say, Weiss, you've really looked better," she remarks. "I mean, I know we're getting older and all, but still," she shakes her head. "I'm a little disappointed. It's not going to be nearly as fun killing you when you've already practically killed yourself."

"Emerald," Weiss gasps out, but that's all she manages before the jade-haired woman has gripped a handful of outlaw's hair and slammed her head back against the wall.

Weiss' vision blurs before a pair of blood-red eyes come into focus.

"Let me tell you how this works, Weiss," Emerald hisses. "I talk, you listen. Got it?"

"Emerald," Weiss whispers. "Emerald, please—" She breaks off as the other woman's knee connects sharply with her stomach and Weiss falls to her knees, short of breath yet again.

"Huh," she hears Emerald murmur above her as she clutches her stomach. "A Schnee on her knees, begging for mercy." A serpentine smirk splits her face. "I kinda like it."

"I'll kill you," Weiss rasps out, reaching blindly for her blade.

Another solid kick from Emerald stills the outlaw's movements, and Weiss rolls over with a groan, clutching her stomach.

"You won't kill me," Emerald remarks, squatting down to level herself with the heiress. "Because the second we're done here, I'm going to kill you." Another dark grin plays at her lips. "And not even the Ghost Queen can come back from that."

Weiss eyes her from her curled position on the ground, her icy eyes bright with hate.

"So what's the delay?" she asks coldly. She wracks her brain for a plan, but she's still dizzy with pain and comes up empty-handed.

The black humor leaves Emerald's eyes, and she stares down at the other woman.

"Cinder," she whispers. "You killed her."

Weiss eyes flip wide, then narrow to slits.

 _"What?"_ she demands. "What are you talking about?"

Emerald's fist smashes against Weiss' face, and her head snaps sideways. The outlaw draws an uneven breath to steady herself before turning back to Emerald, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

"I did not kill Cinder Fall," Weiss says forcefully. "We fought, yes, but I didn't kill her."

"You're _lying!"_ Emerald shouts, swinging her fist again. There's a crack under her knuckles this time and for a moment Weiss' vision swims.

"I am not!" Weiss insists. Her chest heaves with the effort and the right side of her face burns like a fever. But still she lifts her chin as well as she can, glaring up at Emerald. "I've killed many people, Emerald, but not Cinder. Your murderer is elsewhere."

Emerald grabs the other woman by the front of her coat and hauls her to her feet, slamming her back against the alley wall. Weiss' head cracks painfully against the brick and she curses lowly as she rights herself, staring Emerald dead in the eyes.

"I don't believe you," Emerald whispers. Weiss' hand closes around the hilt of her blade, and she bares her teeth in a feral smile.

"I don't concern myself with the opinions of the dead," the Ghost Queen snarls back, and Myrtenaster clears its sheath with a crystalline ring.

-0-

Penny's looked better, Yang reflects as the two make their way through Winter's airship.

Her eyes look dim, and her limbs hang limp at her sides. Yang's eyebrows pull together in confusion. "Um, Penny? Are you…feeling alright?"

Penny looks up at her with owlish green eyes. "I feel nothing, Captain Xiao Long," she reports evenly. "The emotional section of my code was written out by Winter Schnee many years—"

"Are you fully operational?" Yang demands, cutting her off. "Like, all pistons firing or whatever?"

The robotic woman cocks her head to the side, like she's confused, before her expression clears. "Ah, you're making a joke. Of course, Captain. I'm destruction ready!"

Yang gives her a flat look. "Penny, you have a self-destruct order written into your code. You're always destruction ready." She sighs, folding her arms. "Turn around."

Penny does so, and Yang frowns at the enormous white snowflake that stares back at her. Ironwood would be turning in his grave if he knew how Winter had changed the Army's logo. How Winter had changed everything.

 _He could still be alive,_ a small voice of hope whispers. _They never recovered his body from the ruins._

Yang dismisses the thought. If Ironwood were alive, he would have made his presence known long ago. Probably when Winter had disassembled his child.

She reaches out and tugs down the collar of Penny's matte black catsuit, inspecting the small panel just below her neck. She curses.

"Penny, you're at less than half power. How did that happen?" Yang glares as Penny turns back around to face her.

"General Schnee likes to keep me suspended at…less than favorable power levels," Penny reports. A smile splits her face. "She says it encourages respect and obedience."

Yang grinds her teeth. "Of course," she growls. She pulls out her scroll, calling up the map of Winter's airship. She types in some commands, watching out of the corner of her eye as Penny rocks back and forth on her feet and idly wondering why Winter had written the inane action out of her code.

"Okay, you can still draw in power from other sources, right?" Yang asks, looking up.

Penny bobs her head. "Yes. I can retrieve power from any available electronic source as long as there is room for it. If I draw in too much power, I will be in serious danger of overcharging and—"

"Perfect," she cuts the robot off and tucks her scroll away. "We're in Sector 3. We're nowhere near the generator or anything important." She folds her arms. "The worst you can do is kill the lights, and considering you have light bulbs jammed in your eye sockets, I think we'll be fine."

The redhead nods, walking over to a nearby wall and placing her palm flat against it. At once, the lights in the corridor flicker, and any doors that remain open slam shut.

Yang watches as the power surges through the robotic woman, illuminating wires beneath her black suit. Her eyes glow an eerie green and Yang swallows hard as the lights suddenly vanish, plunging them into blackness.

Penny's eyes still glow in the darkness, and Yang tries and fails to not be unnerved by it.

"The emergency lights should kick in soon," the Captain explains. She turns back the way they came. "I'll head around outside. Blake and Sun are probably going to head for the exit near Sector 4. We'll trap them there."

Penny nods her understanding, but Yang senses she's isn't satisfied with the explanation.

"Is there something you wanted to say, Penny?" Yang asks, squinting to try and make out her form in the darkness.

"Oh! Of course not, Captain." She hears a clang of metal that informs her Penny has just snapped a hasty salute. "I'll carry out my duties."

Yang sighs. "This is ridiculous," she grumbles, pulling out her scroll once more and using the tool's backlight to illuminate their faces. She raises her eyebrows expectantly. "Spit it out, Penny."

The malevolence of Penny's appearance is lost in the soft white light of Yang's scroll, and she looks so much like the quirky, kind young girl from all those years ago that the Sun Dragon feels herself soften.

"I'm not Winter, Penny," Yang says quietly. "You can tell me anything you want, okay?"

Penny stares up at the blonde woman. "Captain…even at less than half of my power, I can defeat legions of fighters," she explains slowly. "I'm…I'm _designed_ for that. I haven't yet faced an enemy that requires even an eighth of my total power supply." She tilts her head. "You know all this. Why did you want me to power up?"

Yang feels herself go still. She does know all of that.

But she also knows Blake.

Cool and collected Blake. She let her blade do her talking, and Yang remembers being endlessly impressed with the grace and finesse with which her partner took down their enemies. And if the battle wasn't going her way, and she was trapped, she could slip away like ghost—melting into the shadows and vanishing from sight. Trying to catch Blake was like trying to catch smoke.

Yang should know—she's been trying and failing at it for years.

She won't let her escape again. She'll get her answer, even if she has to beat it out of the other woman.

"I want Blake to be taken into custody, alive," Yang orders. "You can kill anyone else she's with."

Penny nods her understanding. "Affirmative, Captain."

-0-

Blake _feels_ Penny before she sees her.

The corridors of the airship tremor with her approach, and the vibration seems to shake the Faunus to her bones.

She snaps her head up to look at Sun, and the look on his face clearly communicates he felt it too.

Winter's lips curve at the pair's alarm. "It seems our guest will be arriving shortly," she murmurs, tucking strands of hair behind her ear with her free hand. "I'm sure you two are anxiously awaiting your reunion."

Gritting her teeth, Blake looks again to Sun.

 _Run,_ he mouths to her without hesitation. She nods. Anything else would be suicide.

She leaps away from the General's swing, snapping Gambol Shroud back together and twirling it around as it compacts itself into a pistol. She fires a round at Winter, who lifts a glyph in defense while turning to parry a swing from Sun.

The three have been at it for the better part of a half hour. Blake and Sun are easily the most talented partnership in Remnant, but Penny's impending approach has shaken Blake more than she cares to admit.

The robot is just shy of indestructible, and Blake knows her presence will drag up memories she's been resolutely suppressing since Beacon's destruction. She's yet to face her old friend since that night of the siege. Penny would have killed her and Ruby if not for Pyrrha's timey interruption.

She's heard rumors since, of course—whispers of reprogramming and unsanctioned tampering of code. Blake wonders where Ironwood is—wonders if he knows what's become of his precious artificial daughter.

Of course, the character Blake is most dreading is Yang. With Winter outnumbered, she has to be near. The Sun Dragon never abandons her General for long.

Yang, Winter, and Penny. Blake sets her jaw as she watches Sun block at sturdy slice from Winter. Together, they practically supersede the might of the entire Army.

Her eyes narrow as Sun barely dodges another strike.

"Blake, I'm sure you're thinking about very important things," he calls to her. "But I kinda feel like I'm carrying the team right now."

Blake leaps back into the fight, a plan forming as she watches Winter pulls apart her weapon.

"What is that, a needle?" Sun demands, frowning incredulously at the thin sword. "You gonna sew me to death?"

"It's a parrying dagger, you uncultured monkey," Winter hisses. "Though if you'd like, I'd be happy to commission a hand-sewn funeral shroud for you when we're done here."

Sun barks a laugh. "Only if you promise to get the Atlesian Army's logo on it."

Blake grits her teeth. She's been with Sun long enough to know that's how he keeps his focus in a fight. It reminds her of the quips Yang would throw around in the heat of battle.

_Get it together, Blake._

With Winter sufficiently distracted, Blake cuts inward, hurling her pistol at the General's ankles. It embeds itself in the floor of the airship, and Blake pulls the ribbon that attaches her wrist to Gambol Shroud taut around Winter's legs.

Winter gasps at the sudden ensnarement, looking down wildly. Sun sees his chance and takes it, knocking the woman to the ground with a well-aimed strike of his staff. With her legs bound, Winter has no chance at recovering her balance, and goes crashing against the floor.

Blake gives the ribbon another tug to reclaim her pistol, and pulls a new magazine from within her jacket. Sun kicks Khione and the parrying dagger far away, and they go spinning off down the corridor. He plants his foot on Winter's chest to keep her still, and her icy eyes catch fire at the contact.

"Do not presume to touch me, filth," she snarls.

Sun snorts, shaking his head. "Man, you really hate Faunus, don't you?" He cocks his head as Blake readies her weapon. "You know, not so long ago, your dear old sis was involved with a huge Faunus supporter. What do you think of that? The mighty Schnee heiress, shacking it up with a dirty—"

"Sun." Blake's voice is full of muted authority, and he obeys, dutifully backing away from the seething General.

Blake takes his place, replacing his foot with her own and staring the woman down.

"If you're going to kill me, you might as well get on with it," Winter informs her in a clipped voice. She closes her eyes. "Having a Faunus as my last sight is enough to make me want to die."

Annoyance tightens Blake's mouth, and she lifts Gambol Shroud. "Haven't you heard?" she asks. "The Black Sun aren't killers. We leave that to you at the Atlesian Army."

She fires a shot at Winter's throat, and the woman's eyes flip open in surprise just as it makes contact. A ball of ice slams into General's throat, spreading across her entire neck and quick-freezing in the dry air of the ship. Blake fires two other Dust-infused shots at Winter's wrists, welding them to the floor with ice. Unable to lift her head and call for help, Winter can only sneer.

"Neat trick, huh?" Blake remarks, tucking Gambol Shroud away in her waistband. "Weiss came up with it years ago. We based it off of your black glyphs." She shifts her weight, putting more pressure on Winter's ribcage, and the woman strains under it. "And there are exceptions to every rule, General," Blake adds lowly. "Especially nonlethal ones."

Winter stares her down. "You will die, Faunus," she rasps.

Sun quirks an eyebrow at the comment. "We all will," he says. "But today's not the day. And tomorrow doesn't look good either."

Winter opens her mouth to speak again, but Blake decides she's heard enough slurs against her species for one day, and hauls back her foot to deliver a sharp kick to the space just below Winter's ear. Her head snaps sideways and her consciousness abandons her.

"Brutal, but effective," Sun observes.

Blake gives him a glare just short of a slap before taking off down the hallway, Sun close behind. Just as they round another corner, the lights suddenly switch off, drowning the pair in darkness.

Both Faunus freeze, exchanging raised eyebrows.

"Did you tell the boys to cut the power?" she whispers.

"No," he answers. "Did you?"

Blake grips Gambol Shroud's handle tightly, her ears pinned flat against her skull. "This doesn't make sense. They know we can see in the dark, why would they cut the power?"

Sun raises his hand for silence, and Blake swallows the rest of her concerns, watching him closely.

"The generator's still going," he says quietly, and if she strains, Blake can hear it too.

Her eyebrows slant downward in concentration. "They…they just turned off the power to this sector?" The lilt at the end of her sentence turns it into a question. It doesn't make sense.

"Maybe they wanted to cut power to the automatic doors. Lock us in," Sun suggests.

But Blake disagrees. "We could force those doors open easily," she points out.

Then they both hear it. A girlish, painfully cheerful voice echoing from far down another dark corridor.

"Command at full capacity. Secondary power supply received and distributed. All systems are fully operational and primed." Blake's heart stumbles as she swings her gaze up to meet Sun's, who looks equally unnerved.

"I am destruction ready!"

Blake can perfectly picture the merry salute that would accompany a different phrase in a different time, and swallows hard.

"They didn't cut the power," she whispers. "They rerouted it."

Sun utters a vile Vacuoan curse. "Come on!" he urges, and they take off running through the halls.

Blake feels the corridor shake as Penny detects their movement, and the Faunus throws a look over her shoulder.

Down the hall, picked out easily in the gloom, stands Penny. Her eyes glow faintly in the darkness as she crosses gazes with Blake, a disturbing, childish smile splitting her face as she does so.

Winter's influence is obvious. The pink bow that once perched on her head is gone, and instead her dark orange hair hangs long and stick-straight, down past her shoulders. She's dressed simply in a black catsuit that covers everything from her chin down. Her hands are covered in gloves and her feet are locked in combat boots. The only mark of character in her entire ensemble is a stark white copy of the Atlesian Army's logo, sewn into the back of the suit that Blake catches in the reflection of the polished door Penny stands before.

She's not a person, Blake realizes. She's a tool. A weapon.

"You injured the General." Blake grits her teeth and turns away, willing herself to block out the sugar-sweet voice as she pushes herself to keep pace with Sun. "That's not very polite, Blake."

"Why does she know my name?" Blake hisses, more to herself as they turns a corner. _"Why does she know my name?"_

"Because Winter Schnee is a psychopath," Sun answers shortly. "Come on, we'll bust through these doors and get the hell out of here."

A lovely thought, Blake reflects grimly. But she knows it won't work.

That's the thing about running—eventually you run out of places to go.

Blake pulls up, stopping and unsheathing Gambol Shroud in one smooth movement. She looks down the hall they'd run down, watching as Penny approaches them at a leisurely pace. If they had a shot at escape, the robot would be at a dead sprint. Clearly they're done for.

She turns to voice her concerns to Sun, when suddenly the doors they'd pinned their hopes on slide open, and there stands Yang Xiao Long, primed for a fight.

"Whoa!" Sun backs up to Blake, whipping out his staff, eyes wide with surprise.

Blake grits her teeth as she readies Gambol Shroud.

"All finished running?" Penny inquires as she draws closer.

"I don't know, I'm training for a marathon. Think you could let me do a few more laps?" Sun replies. Blake rolls her eyes. Of course Sun would try and sass the artificial intelligence. Of course.

"Blake's never finished running." A low hiss forces its way out of Blake's locked jaw as she turns to scowl at the speaker. Yang looks supremely confident, and an ugly smirk twists her lips as she stares the other woman down. "The more you need her, the faster she runs."

"This from the woman who abandoned her team when they needed her most?" she demands. Her tone is an absolute nightmare. "Tell me, Yang. Who saved your sister when she was trying to kill her?" She points the hand holding Gambol Shroud's sheath at Penny, who blinks at the accusation.

"I have no recollection of such an event," Penny answers. "Your statement has been recognized as a lie and will be disregarded."

A bitter laugh escapes Blake. "Her memory got wiped," she says, sizing up the Sun Dragon. "What's your excuse?"

Yang's violet eyes flash as she lifts her hands, assessing Blake over her fists. The emergency lights switch on, and the room is bathed in a malevolent red glow.

"I stopped caring," she spits.

"When did you ever start?" Blake counters harshly. "Did you ever have any intention of taking the Huntsmen's Oath? Or was Beacon just a big joke to you?" She scoffs. "I guess that explains why you were late to the battle to save it!"

Sun frowns, eyeing the woman carefully. Blake is cold, yes, and he knows she can be devastatingly cruel. But she's rarely as accusatory as she is now. He knows full well there's an ocean's worth of bad blood between the two ex-parents, but enough to justify this kind of incitement?

"Careful, Blake," he cautions her quietly. "There're a lot of sayings about poking dragons and dead cats."

"I know what I'm doing," she murmurs back, watching Yang's eyes carefully.

"I was a little preoccupied," Yang bites back, her voice cruel as a new knife. "My uncle had just been _murdered,_ if you remember."

"I remember," Blake answers archly. "I also remember Ruby fighting at my side." She lifts an eyebrow. "But yet, you share the same uncle."

Yang's eyes flicker—Blake's lips twitch in dark amusement.

"Captain Xiao Long," Penny speaks up. "These Faunus are highly aggressive and open enemies of the Atlesian Army. Execution order requested."

"Denied," Yang snaps. Her eyes flash red and she lunges.

-0-

"Don't be afraid," the woman murmurs, stroking the boy's hair. "Everything's alright."

The small Faunus boy swallows hard, clutching his tail to his chest.

"What do you want from me?" he asks, a tremor in his voice. "I—I don't have any money!"

"Shhh…." the woman soothes him. "We aren't going to hurt you, and we aren't going to take anything from you." She offers a gentle smile. "We're simply going to ask you some questions."

He swallows hard, his eyes shining with tears. "I don't know that much," he explains.

The woman opens her mouth the reassure him, when he cries out in terror and ducks his head. Gritting her teeth in irritation, the woman turns to scowl at the figure over her shoulder.

"Remove your mask," she orders. "You're scaring him."

Adam glares back at her, his own temper apparent despite the mask. "I don't take my mask off for anyone," he snaps.

She stares him down evenly. "Then remover _yourself,"_ she tells him icily. "I have this handled."

He scoffs, but does as he's told. Even he won't risk disobeying her twice.

The woman turns back to the boy cowering at her side. "Now tell me, child, what did these people look like? The ones in the ruins?"

The boy lifts his head, like he's double-checking the man in the mask is truly gone, before looking her in the eye. Her blood-red gaze unnerves him, but still he finds his voice.

"The girl wore a white cloak," he explains. "And she had a giant scythe."

A muscle ticks in the woman's jaw. "Very good," she tells him. "Continue."

"And the boy carried a sword and a shield," he explains. "When the girl attacked him, he created a giant golden barrier."

The woman arches an eyebrow. "The girl in the cloak attacked him?" she asks, confused.

He shakes his head. "No, the other girl. The blonde one. Captain Xiao Long."

The woman nods. "Very well," she murmurs, rising to her feet. "You have been very helpful. You may go, but if you dare breathe a word of this to anyone, I will send the man in the mask after you, understand?"

The small boy bobs his head in fearful understanding before bolting off.

Adam returns to her side, watching the boy scamper off.

"Are you sure it's wise to leave him alive?" he asks.

The woman shrugs. "If anything, it creates rumors, which generates fear. Always a favorable outcome."

He cuts a sideways glance at her. "So," he begins. "Captain Xiao Long."

Raven Branwen nods. "Captain Xiao Long indeed," she murmurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back!
> 
> Sorry for the delay. The holidays are a very busy time for me. I hope you all got to spend the new year doing something you like with someone you like.
> 
> I should be back in the swing of things, and the next break won't be nearly as long. Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy the chapter.
> 
> Also, as you may have noticed, the four chapter method I use may be shaken up a bit. As some of the main characters start to cross paths (Blake and Yang, obviously, but later others will as well) it seems silly to write the same scene from two separate viewpoints. The chapter length will remain the same, but the girls' separate stories will grow more intertwined.


	7. perched, and sat, and nothing more

Neptune can't stop staring at the shield.

He's always known he's reasonably attractive—he's apart of Team SSSN, it comes with the territory—but he studies his reflection in the polished bronze with nothing but hate in his eyes. His perfect profile is split jaggedly by the crack in the shield, and he sweeps his gaze over it again and again.

_Pyrrha, what happened?_

"We should continue west," Ren is saying. "If there is any safety remaining, it is in Vacuo."

"Yeah, but we can't get to Vacuo without going through Vale," Nora argues. "And that's not a trip any of us are gonna survive."

Ren sighs, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "Nora…" he begins, sounding utterly exhausted.

Neptune tunes their conversation out as he runs his fingers lightly over the shield. Their escape from the Mistral Arena had been a short-lived victory, as they had pushed on despite Nora's extensive injuries and Neptune's heavy heart. But it's become increasingly clear to the trident-wielder—ex trident-wielder, he thinks bitterly of his forgotten weapon—that Ren and Nora are survivors in every sense of the word.

He gets the distinct impression that this isn't the worse they've seen, and that makes him very, very worried.

"Neptune, what do you think?" He tears his gaze away from the shield to look up at Nora, who stands with her hands on her hips, frowning down at him. He can't help but steal a glance at her shoulder, wincing at the ugly, black-red scab that mars her pale skin. He thinks again of Levin Tierce, and hears Nora's scream echo in his head.

He lets his gaze drop back to the shield. _Get it together,_ he scolds himself. _You're better than this._

_"We always end up here, it seems,"_ Pyrrha's too-calm, too-deadly voice whispers in his memory. _"You should know by now you aren't strong enough to beat me."_

Neptune wrenches his eyes shut, dropping the shield to bury his face in his hands. It goes clattering away, but he can still see it burned into his mind's eye—the smooth surface shining like freshly spun gold.

He hears Ren sigh, and Nora scolds him quietly.

"Leave him be," she whispers. "He was her friend too."

"Nora, we don't have _time—"_

She shushes him again. "We have time for this, Ren," she tells him softly. Silence passes between them, and Neptune idly wonders what kind of conversation they're silencing for his sake, before he feels Nora card her fingers through his hair.

"Ren and I are gonna go scout ahead," she explains. In all his years of knowing her, Neptune has never thought to categorize Nora as gentle. But as she gingerly pulls his hands from his face, and he stares up at her as she tilts her lips in an uncertain, but undeniably warm smile, he can think of no other word to describe her.

"Will you be alright on your own?" Ren asks. He leans around Nora to get a good look at Neptune. "I know you don't have your weapon, and I'm sorry. Maybe someday we can go back—"

"It's fine," Neptune's voice is hoarse from disuse—rough from the tears he didn't give time to fall. He gives Ren what he hopes is a reassuring nod. "I've still got plenty of Aura, and my Semblance, and…" he trails off, looking down at Pyrrha's shield.

It's strange, he reflects, how such a beautifully crafted weapon can be so ugly in his eyes. He reaches down to seize the back of it, flipping it expertly in his hand. He's never boasted a mastery of any weapon outside of his own—he'd picked up Sun's gunchucks in a wild moment of desperation during a mission that had gone terribly wrong—but he's watched Pyrrha fight enough to have some sense of how to use it. It won't be nearly as graceful, and he's willing it bet it'll be a lot of unsophisticated face-smashing, but at the moment it's all he's got.

"The rest of my team is in Vale," he explains, letting the shield fall slack at his side. "Blake is there too. If we can regroup with them, we'll be as safe as we're gonna get." He swallows hard. "I'm guessing that—that _she's_ following us?"

Nora and Ren glance at each other, a silent conversation transpiring with a few nods, frowns, and sharp headshakes.

"She accused you of supporting the False Maiden," Ren explains, crossing his arms and looking back to Neptune. "She's not going to stop until she's destroyed you."

Neptune looks away, anger and grief seizing him in equal parts.

"What does that even _mean?"_ he demands hotly. "Who is the False Maiden? What did she do to Pyrrha?"

More looks. Neptune stews silently as he watches the remaining pair of Team JNPR, idly marveling at the juxtaposition between their silent interaction and SSSN's loud, wild, and usually violent means of communication.

"That's…kind of a long story," Nora hedges, biting her lip. She shifts her weight and Neptune's gaze snaps to the scar on her hip involuntarily. It looks even worse in the daylight, he realizes. He wonders how she got it—wonders how many scars they have between them.

He assesses them with a flat look. "Not to be a pest," he begins dryly. "But I feel like I kind of have a right to know."

"You do!" Nora hastens to agree. "Of course you do. It's just…" she trails off, dragging a hand through her auburn hair.

"It's complicated," Ren supplies coolly, and Neptune frowns.

"I think I can keep up," he retorts with a scowl.

_"Later,"_ Ren presses, and Neptune realizes the matter is closed.

Nora shoots her partner a sideways look. "You wanna tell him at _night?"_ she hisses, raising her eyebrows. "He's not gonna sleep for a week if you do that."

"Good," Ren replies, turning his back on Neptune and therefore missing the annoyed glance he sends his way. "Then he can take watch."

"Didn't realize you had such an attitude, Ren," Neptune calls as the two distance themselves.

The dark-haired man turns to regard Neptune over his shoulder, not a glimmer of remorse in his rose-colored eyes.

"I did not get this far by being kind, Neptune," he responds lowly.

"God, could you _be_ creepier?" Nora grumbles, seizing her partner by his elbow and hauling him off, promising to be back soon.

Neptune just settles in, setting the shield in his lap and staring at it.

Maidens are, quite obviously, girls. And the only girls he's been in contact with since Beacon's fall are Blake and Weiss. And seeing as Sun rarely lets the former out of his sight, he has a terrible hunch that this so-called False Maiden could very well turn out to be his own Snow Angel.

He chuckles at the old nickname. He hasn't called her that in years.

He hasn't _seen_ her in years.

He remembers catching up with her the night of the fall, grabbing her arm and pulling her back as he caught her just outside the school's grounds.

_"Weiss,"_ he'd said urgently. _"Weiss, what are you doing? You heard Port! Beacon is going to be attacked! We need everyone we can get! Where are you going?"_

She'd turned then, and his stomach had rolled at the blood on her clothes.

_"Let me go, Neptune,"_ she'd requested, her tone as steady as her sword hand. She'd pulled herself from his grip, and his arm fell limp at his side, eyes still wide with shock.

_"Weiss…"_ he trailed off. Her hands were as bloody as the rest of her. A fatal amount? He had no idea.

_"Go back to Beacon,"_ she'd ordered him. She shifted away, and his eyes snapped to the movement—realizing with a jolt blood was dripping from the point of Myrtenaster's sheath. _"You have a team to protect,"_ she pressed, pulling the edge of her coat tighter around herself to conceal her bloodied blade.

His eyes had narrowed at this. _"And you don't?"_ he'd challenged roughly.

A mordant, bitter smile twisted the heiress' lips, before she'd gone sprinting away. Neptune could only stand at the edge of Beacon's soon-to-be destroyed campus, watching as night swallowed his angel.

-0-

Blake doesn't hesitate.

She's fought beside and against Yang enough to know that any delay is a death sentence.

She lashes out with Gambol Shroud, and Yang catches the attack with her gauntlet, gritting her teeth as she shoves Blake's sword away.

"Actually gonna fight this time?" The Sun Dragon demands.

Blake bares her teeth in a snarl. "I never stopped fighting," she hisses, lifting her sheath to block Yang's next punch.

Something's nagging at her though. Penny had quite clearly requested an execution order—and Yang had quite clearly denied her.

Her mind spins with the possibilities—scrambles to use this information to spin some sort of escape plan. Yang wants one of them alive, clearly, and Blake has a sneaking suspicion it's her.

She wonders wildly if they'd figured it out—if the Army finally unearthed the secret she'd guarded so ferociously. But no, that still wouldn't make sense. If they knew, they'd be hunting down Pyrrha, not her.

"Sun," she calls, feeling the familiar warmth and weight of his back pressing against hers. She steals a look over her shoulder and curses when she sees Penny outstretching her arms, rousing her weapon. If they let her get that far, they're done for.

Unless…

_"Captain Xiao Long, these Faunus are highly aggressive and open enemies of the Atlesian Army. Execution order requested."_

_"Denied!"_

It's the slimmest of chances, but hanging out with SSSN in Remnant's back alleys has turned Blake into something of a gambler. She steels her resolve as she stares down the Sun Dragon, ruthlessly denying the familiarity she sees in the Captain's face.

"Sun, do you trust me?" she demands lowly, blocking another strike from Yang.

He hesitates, and she feels him go tense where their backs touch.

"Not when you open with shit like that, I don't," he says, distrust darkening his words. A pause. "Why?"

"Run." Her tone brooks no argument. She can hear the cool scrape of steel as Penny's weapon unfolds behind the robot's back, and grits her teeth at the memories the noise prompts.

Sun scoffs, not even honoring her request with a response. The muscles in his back shift as he raises his staff.

"Sun, I am begging you," she tells him, her words low and quick and fierce. She can't blurt out her plan here—not with Yang still raining punches down on her and Penny preparing a power on par with an apocalypse. _"Please._ Trust me this once."

It's a horrible statement—as if he hasn't trusted her before. As if he hasn't been her friend and partner and everything in between and beyond since Beacon's fall. As if he hasn't risked his life and the life of his teammates for her. As if he hasn't stared down death a hundred times over in her name.

She knows he's in love with her—and a part of her (she'll never let herself wonder how big of a part) loves him back. But now—in a world ravaged by Grimm, a world with incredible power up for grabs, where swordplay has replaced lien as the currency, and law and order are only as powerful as the one willing to enforce it—now is not the time for such thoughts.

Love is crippling to survival.

"Sun, _go!"_ she orders, pressing Yang back with a powerful slice of her weapon before turning and shoving Sun away from her. He stumbles and snaps his head up just in time to see Blake launch herself at Penny.

She slashes at the robot, who blinks, like even she's struck at the sheer ludicrousness of Blake's new target. _Please,_ Blake thinks as she steadies herself, Gambol Shroud poised for attack as Penny's swords hang suspended above her. _Please, for once in my life let me be right._

"Blake, what are you doing?" he shouts, eyes wide with panic as Penny gestures elegantly with her hand and the swords spin through the air, flashing in the emergency lights of the airship. Blake grits her teeth, knuckles turning white with the force she grips Gambol Shroud.

_"Niamini,"_ she spits at him. It's the first Vacuo phrase he ever taught her—he'd whispered it in her ear while she'd bled out against him the night Beacon fell, while Sage and Scarlet had tended to Ruby and Neptune had fended off the Grimm determined to corner them in the classroom—and as such held considerable sway over the Faunus.

_Trust me._

Sun stares at her, his eyes looking like hunks of obsidian in the near-dark. His expression is drawn tight with anger, but as she triggers her Semblance to dodge the first volley of Penny's attacks, he grits his teeth.

_"Fine!"_ he yells, his voice echoing in the small corridor of the airship. Part of him hates her for this—for cleaving their partnership—but he never could deny her anything. So he sprints from the fight, resentment and worry and anger rolling off of him in waves, and relief surges through Blake.

Yang turns to watch him go—ruby-red eyes fading to amethyst due to her puzzlement over his sudden departure—but she's drawn back when a loud clatter hits the floor.

Blake holds up her hands, Gambol Shroud at her feet.

Penny blinks at the sudden display of surrender, looking to Yang for her cue. The Captain waves the robot off, and with a cheerful bob of her head, Penny does so, recalling her weapons and folding herself into a neat, proper stance.

Yang approaches Blake as one would approach their prey. Yang has always—predictably—been compared to a dragon. Her fiery temperament, her inextinguishable thirst for combat, her thrill of a fight. But privately, Blake had always held the opinion that Yang was more lion: proud and undaunted and always in control.

"You knew we'd spare you." It isn't a question, and Yang assess the other woman coldly.

"You made it fairly obvious," Blake replies evenly. She hasn't been this close to Yang in years.

Yang scoffs, switching her gaze to Penny, who snaps to attention.

"Find him," she orders. "Kill him."

Penny nods and bounds off.

Yang throws a sneer in Blake's face. "Well then. What do you think of your plan now?"

Blake smirks, supremely confident in the face of the Sun Dragon.

"I taught Sun how to run," she says quietly. "You'll never catch him."

-0-

It occurs to Weiss that she is— _possibly_ —a bit out of practice.

She's spent most of her time these past few years running and hiding. A combination that—while putting a substantial dent in her pride—doesn't require much swordplay.

She ducks the swing of Emerald's weapon and hears the sickle go whistling over her head.

Then again, she hasn't faced an opponent of Emerald's caliber in quite a while. The last person she crossed blades with who gave her trouble was Cinder Fall—and Qrow had managed to come to her aid then.

Part of her—the caged, edgy, paranoid part of her that had taken root when she'd seen a wanted poster of herself for the first time—wonders if this is somehow part of Qrow's master plan. If he _wants_ her skills to grow dull.

She twists inward, neatly dodging the sickle's rebound, and stabs backwards at the other woman's knees. Her Aura prevents Weiss from doing any serious damage, but Emerald still goes down hard, wincing in pain.

Her lips twist with a cocky smirk that—in another lifetime—would have her etiquette teacher in tears. Emerald glares up at her, crimson eyes alight with anger.

"I," Weiss declares, remarkably high-handed for someone who had been on the receiving end of a very impressive beating not five minutes previous, _"did not_ kill Cinder Fall."

But—as with all Schnees—her pride is her vice, and Emerald yanks on her weapon's second chain.

The other sickle comes flying out of the shadows—Weiss curses lowly, she hadn't even _seen_ it—and takes the heiress out at her ankles. Weiss collapses in a heap, and the tables are turned once again.

She braces herself as Emerald looms above her, mind racing as she tries to decide her next play, when the other woman speaks.

"Who did?" she asks, and Weiss blinks at the _agony_ in her voice.

"I, uh…" Weiss swallows hard, completely at a loss. She knew Emerald and Cinder were close, yes, but this close? "I don't know," she admits, hoping dearly her words won't earn her another beating.

But there's no fire in the woman's eyes. Her righteous anger has bowed out, it seems, and Emerald stares down at her with dead eyes.

"If you're lying—"

_"I'm not!"_ Weiss snaps, irritated. God give her patience, she's committed plenty of crimes. There's no reason to falsely accuse her. "What reason would I have to kill Cinder? Don't you think I have enough problems as it is? You think I need her…her psychopathic _cult_ followers hunting me down?"

For a moment, a beat of absolute silence passes between the two women. The sounds of the Vale docks float back to the alley, and the sound of the water lapping against the mainland seems to blanket the area with calmness.

"Huh," Emerald mutters to herself. Her hand spins out—Weiss flinches, already anticipating the bite of her sickle's steel—and her whole weapon calmly returns to her hand. She folds in up in a few deft movements, tucking it out of sight at her side. "You're serious."

Weiss can't stop the starkly scandalized look that flashes across her face. _"Of course_ I'm serious!" she cries. "Why would I lie?"

Emerald shrugs. "Don't know. You killed Qrow." A smirk splits her features. "Take it from me. Once you can murder people, everything else is a snap."

Disgust darkens Weiss' features, and her sword hand hovers awkwardly in limbo—unsure if she should sheath the weapon or not.

"We are not similar," the heiress assures her coldly, climbing warily to her feet, waiting for the moment when the other woman would knock her back down.

The smirk grows more pronounced—nearly a sneer. "Whatever you say," Emerald replies. Weiss scowls at the unspoken taunt in her words, before Emerald jerks a thumb over her shoulder.

"There's a boat headed to Mistral," she explains. "The _RSS Dawn_ or something pretentious like that. I was gonna take it but…" she trails off, giving Weiss a visual once-over that makes her tighten her grip on Myrtenaster. "…I've changed my mind."

Weiss blinks. "You're letting me go?" she asks. She immediately kicks herself for the stupid question, but Emerald doesn't seem to take offense.

"If you didn't kill Cinder, I've got no reason to look at your ugly face," she replies serenely—Weiss actually gasps at the remark, as if a comment against her appearance is the worst thing that transpired in this alley—but Emerald's expression suddenly turns grim. "But," she says, a certain darkness to her words that alarms Weiss. "If you know who did—"

"I don't," Weiss blurts out immediately. "Honestly. I'm being hunted too, if that's any consolation. Perhaps the people pursuing me are responsible for her death?"

It's unlikely, Weiss is well aware—she and Cinder had garnered the ire of very different people for very different reasons—but she's willing to make any claim if it means Emerald will leave her well alone.

The other woman just nods slowly. "Well then," she replies, turning to leave. "I'd advise you get out of here before that bounty on your head gets too tempting."

Weiss knows a dismissal when she hears one. She sheaths her blade and immediately takes off at a brisk walk, when Emerald calls out to her.

"You forgot your ticket, stupid," she drawls, waving the slip of paper in the air. Grimacing, Weiss reaches out to accept it, not missing Emerald's sly grin.

"What?" she asks, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Her hand creeps back to her weapon's hilt.

"Nothing," Emerald remarks in a casual tone that implies it's not nothing and is actually a very important _something._ "It's just, I was hanging around these docks for a while before you showed up. A few days at least."

Weiss frowns. "And?" she prompts.

"I saw your little boyfriend," the mocking edge to Emerald's words draw a scowl from Weiss. "Neptune, I think? He was a sight for sore eyes. He was headed to Mistral too, as it happens."

Panic sends Weiss' heart crashing against her ribs. No. No no no no no _no._ Not Neptune. Oh god. Please no. Make her face any of them—Ruby, Yang, Blake—anyone else but him.

"Just something to think about," Emerald goes on, in that devil-may-care drawl. Her ruby eyes spark with a sort of black satisfaction as the color drains from Weiss' face. "But you'll wanna catch that boat," she says. "Because the next time we meet, I might not be so sentimental."

She turns to leave then, leaving Weiss stock-still at the mouth of the alley.

"Give Neptune my regards," she calls without turning, throwing a hand up in a casual farewell. "I'm sure your reunion will be _beautiful."_

Weiss stands there, clutching the ticket in her hand, suddenly all-too-aware of how truly outmatched she is in this game of outlaws.

Facing Neptune means facing everything she's been running from since she'd tugged Myrtenaster from Qrow's chest.

Emerald didn't spare her so much as she just shifted her cause of death to something more amusing. Weiss' mouth thins to a hard line. She has to get to Mistral, and if she does happen to cross paths with him, she'll pull a page from Blake's book and _run._

-0-

Ruby sees a movement and jerks herself upright.

She'd been lounging in the same spot Jaune had picked out—the top of the destroyed tower—idly disassembling and reassembling her weapon with her nimble fingers while Jaune slept below her, humming an old song to herself while she waited for daybreak.

But now, she's razor-sharp and ready.

Her eyes scan the surrounding area, waiting for something else to catch her vision, but nothing does. Frowning, she leaps down from her perch, swinging Crescent Rose around as she creeps forward, frowning in the darkness of the ruins.

Grimm are not stealthy. Unease picks at her gut.

She hears a rustling and spins, her cloak flaring out behind her as she throws her gaze around, desperately searching.

All too soon, a mask seems to bloom in her mind's eye, and Ruby curses her subconscious for interfering at a time like this, when she realizes the mask is not a remnant of her nightmare, but rather a very real thing, attached to a very real person.

For a split-second, nothing happens. Ruby spies a katana in her hand and the two stare at each other in the darkness.

Then instinct overtakes her, and Ruby swings out her scythe, but the woman catches the strike easily. Ruby gasps as the woman twists her blade and Crescent Rose is stripped from her hands, spinning through the air before landing with a dull thud a few feet away.

Unarmed, Ruby can only stare down her opponent with as much ferocity as she can manage. "You don't know who you're messing with," she growls, already calculating the time it will take her to reclaim her weapon and launch a counterattack.

A low chuckle makes its way past the mask. "Tread lightly," the woman murmurs, and Ruby eyes the malevolent glint her blade throws off. "You are in the presence of your teacher's teacher."

Ruby's silver eyes widen in the moonlight, and she staggers backwards, too stunned for words.

_"Raven?"_ she gasps, not daring to believe it but unaware of anyone else who would boast such a title. The name tastes foul in her mouth—she can't remember the last time she'd spoken it aloud, or even thought about it.

The woman raises a pale hand to remove her mask, smoothing wild locks of her dark hair back as she assesses Ruby with blood-red eyes.

"Hello, child," she says, and Ruby wants to die.

"You…you…" Words fail her. She can only stare at the other woman in complete disbelief.

A smirk tugs at Raven's lips.

"Your astonishment is a pleasant surprise," she muses, and Ruby doesn't understand a lot of things in this moment, but first on the list is how Raven can be so perfectly calm. "When I showed myself to Yang, she attacked me."

Ruby somehow finds her voice. "She does that," she blurts out, immediately wincing at her own ridiculous comment.

Raven snorts with mirth. "That she does," she replies. "But look, that aggression has carried her all the way to the lofty title of Atlas' Sun Dragon." A sardonic edge grace her words. "You must be such a proud sister."

Ruby stiffens with dislike. "How do you know about that?" she demands.

Raven rolls her eyes, sheathing her blade. Ruby knows, objectively, she should be thrilled that the woman no longer has a sword on her, but she feels strangely slighted. Like Raven doesn't consider her a threat, or a challenge.

"Such obtuseness," she murmurs unkindly, and Ruby flinches at the shriek her blade gives off as she slides it back in her scabbard. "As if the fact that you were unaware of my presence in Remnant somehow renders _me_ unaware of the world around me. You are so like Taiyang, I may vomit."

Anger flares red-hot in Ruby's veins, and she makes a move to rouse her Semblance and snatch Crescent Rose from the ground, when Raven's hand seizes her arm like the strike of a snake.

"Hm, I'm disappointed," she muses as Ruby openly glares at her. "I thought Qrow would have impressed the art of subtlety to you. He always did boast about your skills, though I'm starting to wonder if there was any weight to those claims."

_"Let me—!"_ Ruby begins in a voice like a rumbling rose, but Raven lifts her free hand to her lips in a gesture of silence.

"Careful, child," she cautions lowly. "We don't want to wake your friend, do we?" she looks askance at Jaune, still slumbering peacefully. "I'd rather keep this a family affair."

Ruby's eyes catch fire. "You aren't my family," she growls.

Raven openly laughs. Ruby scowls at the sound.

"Oh, I wish I had sought you out sooner," the older woman remarks. "You are endlessly amusing."

Ruby squirms against her hold. "Let me go!" she snaps. "You have no idea what I'm capable of!"

Something changes in Raven's expression, and Ruby regrets her words.

"So Adam was correct," she muses quietly, studying the smaller woman. "You are aware of your heritage."

Ruby blinks several times—perplexed and deeply unnerved at the mention of Adam—and stares up at Raven in confusion.

"You are the Maid of Spring." It isn't a question, and Ruby doesn't argue the point. At this point, Raven could recite what Ruby had for breakfast the other day and she probably wouldn't be surprised.

"If you know, then why are you still acting like you're better than me?" Ruby asks, a cool edge to her words. "Maidens are—"

"You do not know the first thing about being a Maiden," Raven cuts her off sharply. "If you think it means unlimited power, you have been keenly misinformed."

"But…Qrow told me the Maidens are the strongest people on the continent," Ruby explains, desperately trying to keep a hold on the ideology she'd been clinging to since she began this journey. "We're the protectors of Remnant!"

Raven arches a brow. "A rather arrogant thought, no?" she counters. "Think, child: if Maidens are the ultimate defenders of Remnant, why bother with the charade of schools? Why train others to be Hunters and Huntresses if the guardianship falls exclusively to the Maidens?"

Ruby falters under this new point of view, eyes wide. "I…I just…"

"You want to make things right," Raven murmurs. "You want to undo the hurt. You may deny our family ties, but I understand you better than you may care to admit. I know all about wanting to fix things."

Ruby stares her down. "You're a Maiden too. Ozpin told me."

Raven nods. "I am," she replies. "And I can tell you one thing that being a Maiden guarantees: loneliness."

Ruby swallows as her meeting with Qrow stabs her subconscious.

"Yeah," she says quietly as a brittle breezes toys with the ends of her cloak. "I can see that."

Raven releases her arm, eyeing Summer's daughter with a critical eye.

"You mean to rouse the others, don't you?" she asks. When Ruby nods, she clicks her tongue. "That is a bold move," Raven remarks. "And an endeavor you may not survive. Maidens do not posses supreme power, Ruby. Even if the four of us were to band together, we could scarcely put a dent in the Army's power. They have allies and recourses even you are yet unaware of."

Anger furrows Ruby's brow. "Then if we aren't strong, what's the point?" she demands hotly.

Raven arches an eyebrow at the outburst.

"There is more to power than brute strength, child," she tells her. "Surely Qrow taught you that—it was always his favorite lesson."

Ruby frowns in confusion. "What lesson?"

The howl of a Beowolf rips through the night, and Raven dons the mask again. "Wisdom will always bring strength to heel," she explains, voice muffled by the disguise. "It may not be immediate—and you are guaranteed to lose more than you gain. But, in the end, it can be done."

Ruby watches as Raven steps away from her. "Do not look for me," she orders, and Ruby can't resist a scoff—as if she desires a second round of this encounter. "We will meet again, Ruby. If your sense of righteousness has not yet killed you."

Dully annoyed by the remark, Ruby stoops to collect Crescent Rose. When she straightens, she is alone in the ruins.

At dawn, Jaune asks her sleepily if anything happened.

"No," Ruby replies, packing up her supplies with a scowl. "Nothing at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally.
> 
> Took me long enough, am I right?
> 
> Sorry for the delay, school sort of got the jump on me. But we're back, and boy, wasn't Volume Three a wild ride?
> 
> So, I have a few things I want to make clear, now that the show is on hiatus again:
> 
> The definite canon cut off is Chapter Nine of Volume 3: PvP. All the stuff that happens after that point did not happen in Nevermore's universe. I might incorporate some of it in, but it will be presented in a much different way if I do.
> 
> Also, I'm hoping to finish this before the show comes back. I've mapped out a pretty definite plan for the plot, and given the amount of time I have to work with, it shouldn't be too much of a challenge.
> 
> Thirdly: someone made fanart! And it's really fucking rad and you should 100% go look at it: http://erinye.tumblr.com/post/139875882671/drawings-of-midwestern-duchess-s-rwby-au
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope I swayed some fears that I was making Ruby too over-powered. She's the kind of character who believes in herself to the point of some absurdity. I think her actions on the airship with Torchwick made that pretty clear. Sometimes characters don't have an accurate gauge of their powers.
> 
> Many thanks for sticking with me!

**Author's Note:**

> Ho boy. Hang onto your hats, ladies and gents.
> 
> So this is an AU. An "everything goes to shit" AU, if you will. And while I'm very excited to work on it, I wanted to make a few things clear:
> 
> 1\. I'm shit at multi-chapter stuff. Literal garbage. I cannot tell you how many works I've abandoned over the years purely because they were too ambitious and I wrote myself into a corner. I'm going to give it my best shot, and I've got a pretty okay plan (like I made a storyboard and every guys aren't you proud?) but we'll see how it goes.
> 
> 2\. In the event that I do complete this, it's not going to be complete complete. I'm not writing this with a real resolution in mind. It's more about the events that led to this AU and how the characters interact with each other. There's no big "fix" at the end. It will most likely end pretty ambiguously. If that ain't your cup of tea, I totally understand.
> 
> 3\. I take a lot of liberties in this story, obviously. If you don't like people messing with canon, that's totally fine, but you're gonna have a bad time. I'm probably going to name currently unnamed weapons, create new areas, and do things to characters you might not like. That being said, I will try my absolute hardest to stay true to the characters, but it is, by nature of an AU, going to be a bit different.
> 
> With all that being said, thank you very much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the first chapter!


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